THE  EXECUTIONER'S  REVENGE.    Translated  from  the  Prench 
of  LEONCE  FERRET.    12mo,  cloth.  313  pages. 

A  story  of  the  French  Revolution,  in  \vhich  the  wild  passions  of 
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A  very  intensa  French  novel  by  an  able  writer,  most  admirably  translated.  It  is 
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ingly well  told.—  Toledo  Blade.  • 

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which  it  is  issued.  The  story  is  more  dignified  than  the  usual  run  of  French  stories.— 
Indianapolis  Daily  Journal. 

WAS  IT  A  MURDER  ?  or  Who  is  the  Heir  ?    From  the  French 
of  FORTUNE  DU  BOISGOBEY.      12mo,  cloth,  341  pages. 

A  highly  entertaining  romance,  relating  to  French  provincial  life 
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drawn,  and  the  story  so  charmingly  told  that  the  reader's  interest  is  fully 
sustained  from  the  opening  to  the  cloae  of  the  volume. 

OVERLAND  GUIDE,  from  the  Missouri  River  to  the  Pacific 

Ocean.    Illustrated.    CHAS.  S.  QLEED,  Editor.     12mo,  245  pages.. 
Price,  $1.00  in  cloth,  50  cents  in  paper. 

Something  quite  different  from  the  ordinary  guide-book  species. 
There  is  nothing  ephemeral  about  it.  It  was  not  made  to  order,  nor  is  it 
the  result  of  an  ill-digested  cram  at  the  libraries.  It  tells  all  about  places 
of  note  on  the  great  lines  of  travel  through  Kansas,  Colorado,  New 
Mexico,  Arizona,  and  California,  Besides  its  descriptions  of  scenery,  it  is 
crowded  wUii  information  derived  from  personal  inquiry  and  practical 
observation,  and  written  in  a  pleasing,  graceful  style  of  conscientious 
accuracy  and  subdued  imagination.  It  contains  also  the  Mining  Laws  of 
the  United  States,  repeal  provisions  and  regulations,  and  Mining  Laws  of 
Colorado,  Arizona,  and  New  Mexico.  An  invaluable  book  of  reference 
or  for  solid  information  sought  by  the  traveler,  whether  bent  on  business 
or  pleasure. 

*  *    *    It  is  indispensable.    *     •     *    "No  one  taking  the  favorite  western  trip  can 
afford  to  be  without  it.— Kansas  City  Journal. 

*  *    *    ft  is  safe  to. pay  that  no  question  asked  by  the  multitudinous  western  tourist* 
and  immigrants  remains 'unanswered  by  the  editor  oi  the  Orer/aml  O,ilde.    *    *    *    The 

nd  fine  illustrations  with  which  the  Orerland  Gui</e  is  embellished  make  it  t 
handsome  as  well  as  a  useful  addition  to  any  library. —The  Capital,  Topeka,  Kam. 

*  *    *    The  book  forms,  in  fact,  a  veritable  encyclopedia  of  information  upon  ih€ 

topography,  geography,   min  ncry  and  antiquities  of 

.  ;t  describes,  and  upon  these  points  is  a  ready-reference  manual  of  the 
urt.— The  Interior,  Chicago. 

*  *    *    It  is  a  publication  of  great  value  to  the  thousands  who  for  various  reasons 

i  hi  the  region  described.— Chicago  Times. 

*  *    *    It  gives  a  vast  amount  of  useful  and  practical  information  ne\er  IK  fore 

*    *    The  illustrations  are  verr  fine.—  Detroit  Free  Press. 


CHICAGO    SENSATIONS; 


OR, 


LEAVES 


FROM  THE 


NOTE  BOOK  OF  A  CHICAGO  REPORTER 


AND 


DETECTIVE. 


ILLUSTRATED. 


Chicago  : 
RAND,    McNALLY    &    CO. 

1886. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1881,  by 

RAND,    McNALLY   &   CO., 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


TO  THE  READER. 


HE  collection  of  stories  here 
presented  form  the  "abstract 
and  brief  chronicle"  of  certain 
events  which  from  time  to  time 
have  come  under  the  notice  of  the 
writer.  In  a  few  instances  a  part  of 
if  /  the  story  has  found  its  way  into  the  news- 
papers, but  in  the  majority  of  cases  the 
"sensations"  were  literally  "suppressed."  For  obvious 
reasons  some  changes  have  been  made  in  names  and 
locations,  but  the  tales  are  substantially  what  they  pur- 
port to  be  —  Leaves  from  the  Note  Book  of  a 

REPORTER. 


CONTENTS. 


LEAF  I.  A  MYSTERIOUS  MURDER,  -  .  .5—26 

II.  THE  ROMANCE  OF  A  TRAMP,  27—  48 

"  III.  THE  CARNIVAL'S  VICTIM,  -  49—  74 

IV.  THE  STORY  OF  A  WAIF,  -  75—  94 

"  V.  THE  TELL-TALE  SKULL,  -  .  95—122 

Vi.  JANET  AND  JAMIE,  .  123—138 

"     VII.  THE  WITNESS  FROM  THE  DEAD,  -    139—154 


LEAF    I. 


A  MYSTERIOUS  MURDER. 


HICAGO  has  always 
been  notorious  for  its 
criminals.  Other  cit- 
ies can  boast  of  des- 
perate thieves,  thngs 
and  murderers,  but 
for  ingenious  rascality 
and  blood  -  curdling 
scoundrelism,  the  out- 
laws of  the  Garden 
City  carry  off  the 
palm.  No  satisfactory  explanation  of 
our  excessive  criminality  has  ever  been 
given,  and  it  is  not  my  purpose  to  attempt 
one.  It  may  be  that  the  lax  administration 
of  justice  in  the  city  encourages  the  thief  and 
midnl  ght  assassin ;  it  may  be  that  our  citizens 

(5) 


6  Suppressed  Sensations. 

have  learned  to  look  upon  pre-eminence  in  vice 
and  wickedness  as  an  additional  feather  in  the 
cap  of  the  Northwestern  metropolis  ;  it  may  be 
that  our  unchecked  gambling  dens  and  our  un- 
bridled saloons  have  had  the  effect  of  making  our 
criminals  more  reckless  and  daring  than  the  same 
class  in  other  cities.  Whatever  the  cause,  such 
is  the  fact. 

But  it  is  not  alone  in  the  lower  and  brutal  grades 
of  crime  that  Chicago  stands  pre-eminent.  A  cer- 
tain looseness  of  morals  exists  which  has  no  par- 
allel in  any  other  city  in  the  world.  The  divorce 
courts  are  blocked  with  business,  and  the  deadly 
canker  of  domestic  infelicity  is  daily  destroying 
thousands  of  homes  which  should  be  temples  of 
love  and  joy  and  peace. 

Strange  and  horrible  crimes  often  spring  from 
this  domestic  discord.  This  leaf  will  reveal  one 
of  many  features  of  horror  and  painful  sadness. 
It  will  show  to  what  extent  misguided  passion 
will  lead  its  victims — to  what  extreme  a  deceived 
woman  will  go  for  revenge. 

In  the  spring  of  1873  the  community  WES 
shocked  by  the  murder  of  a  prominent  citizen 
in  one  of  the  best  known  and  most  splendidly 
appointed  of  our  hotels.  A  number  of  mysterious 


A  Mysterious  Murder. 


circumstances  surrounded  the  case.  The  man — a 
large  and  prosperous  merchant — had  visited  the 
hotel  alone  early  in  the  evening,  and  registering 
as  "Jas.  Russell,  Cleveland,  Ohio,"  engaged  a 
room  for  the  night.  He  told  the  clerk  that  his 
wife,  who  was  visiting  friends  at  Evanston,  would 
arrive  at  the  hotel  within  an  hour  or  two,  and  he 
gave  instructions  that  she  should  be  shown  up 
to  his  apartment.  In  the  meantime  he  would  lie 
down  and  rest,  as  he  felt  somewhat  sick. 

About  half-past  nine,  a  lady  closely  veiled  but 
answering  the  description  given,  inquired  for  Mr. 
James  Russell,  and  was  shown  to  the  room.  The 
lights  were  burning  very  low,  and  the  gentleman 
was  apparently  asleep  on  the  couch.  The  lady 
sat  down  by  his  side  and  stroked  his  head  caress- 
ingly, but  did  not  wake  him.  This  much  the 
attendant  saw  before  closing  the  door. 

Mr.  Russell  had  requested  to  be  called  at  eight 
the  next  morning.  At  that  hour  a  domestic 
rapped  at  the  door,  but  getting  no  response,  she 
knocked  and  knocked  again,  and,  receiving  no 
answer,  turned  the  handle.  To  her  surprise  the 
door  was  not  locked.  She  opened  it  and  looking 
into  the  apartment  saw  Russell  was  lying  on  the 
couch.  She  approached  with  the  intention  of 


8  Suppressed  Sensations. 

arousing  him,  but  started  back  in  horror  when 
she  saw  a  bullet  wound  in  his  forehead,  and  a 
pool  of  blood  on  the  floor. 

The  rest  of  the  house  was  speedily  aroused, 
and  a  scene  of  the  wildest  excitement  ensued. 
Messengers  were  hurriedly  dispatched  to  the 
police  head- quarters,  and  the  office  of  the  coroner. 
There  was  great  commotion  and  consternation 
among  the  guests.  Doctors  were  summoned,  and 
declared  that  Mr.  Russell  had  been  dead  a  num- 
ber of  hours.  Search  was  made  for  the  weapon, 
but  none  was  found.  No  one  remembered  the 
lady  leaving  the  house.  No  one  could  give  an 
intelligent  description  of  her  appearance.  She 
was  a  stranger  to  the  neighborhood. 

The  position  of  the  wound,  as  well  as  the 
course  of  the  bullet,  precluded  the  idea  of 
suicide.  It  was  evident  that  Russell  had  been 
murdered,  and  that  the  assassin  was  the  lady 
with  whom  he  had  an  appointment  the  night 
before. 

These,  in  brief,  were  the  facts  which  came  out 
on  the  inquest.  Detective  skill  was  employed  to 
ferret  out  the  murderess.  Days,  weeks  and 
months  passed,  but  the  crime  remained  shrouded 
in  mystery.  The  house  suffered  greatly.  It  was, 


A  Mysterious  Murder. 


although  not  one  of  the  largest,  yet  one  of  the 
finest  in  the  city,  and  patronized  by  high  class 
customers,  who  preferred  its  quiet  elegance  and 
home  comforts  to  the  more  pretentious  glitter  of 
the  great  hotels.  But  from  this  time  its  decay 
was  rapid,  and  it  has  never  recovered  from  the 
shock. 

Mr.  Russell  was  a  married  man,  as  well  as  a 
member  of  one  of  the  fashionable  churches,  and 
his  sudden  and  horrible  death  was  a  great  shock 
to  those  who  knew  him.  For  weeks  the  matter 
was  discussed  in  social  circles,  and  expressions 
of  horror  were  heard  on  all  sides. 

The  domestic  relationships  of  the  murdered 
man  had  always  seemed  calm  and  felicitous.  His 
wife  was  a  pretty,  well-formed  brunette,  of  rare 
intelligence  and  accomplishments.  She  was  de- 
voted to  her  husband,  who  in  turn  appeared  to 
lose  no  opportunity  of  paying  her  attentions  gen- 
erally deemed  outs;de  the  regulation  duty  of  a 
well-established  spouse. 

Their  residence  on  Michigan  avenue  was  a 
model  of  comfort  and  refinement.  Each  season 
small  parties  had  been  given  by  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Russell,  which  were  famed  in  social  circles  for 
good  taste  and  pleasurable  success. 


10  Suppressed  Sensations. 

At  the  inquest,  and  for  several  months  after- 
wards, the  widow  was  bowed  down  with  grief. 
She  testified  always  to  the  deep  affection  which 
her  husband  had  shown  since  marriage,  and  tears 
coursed  down  her  cheeks  when  she  related  the 
many  acts  of  love  and  kindness  he  had  per- 
formed. She  was  heart-broken  at  the  manner  of 
his  death,  and  any  allusion  thereto  caused  her  to 
break  down  in  a  painful  fit  of  weeping. 

Six  months  after  the  tragedy,  still  the  same 
sorrowing,  grief -stricken  woman,  Mrs.  Russell 
broke  up  her  establishment  and  went  East.  For 
some  time  her  most  intimate  friends  lost  sight  of 
her. 

In  due  time  the  daily  press  dropped  the  sen- 
sation. It  ran  the  usual  course.  Other  horrors 
intervened,  and  the  interest  in  the  Russell  mur- 
der was  swamped. 

While  working  up  the  case  I  became  acquainted 
with  a  young  detective  named  Harris.  He  was 
an  enthusiast  in  his  profession,  and  naturally 
took  a  great  interest  in  this  mysterious  affair. 
Every  now  and  then  he  would  advance  a  theory 
directly  opposed  to  the  popular  one,  and  I  would 
as  frequently  pooh-pooh  him  into  silence.  But 
Harris  kept  on  in  his  course  of  investigation, 


12  Suppressed  Sensations. 

and  had  great  hopes  of  pocketing  the  $1,000  re- 
ward offered  by  the  widow  for  the  apprehension 
and  conviction  of  the  murderess. 

In  justice  to  the  detective  profession,  without 
going  into  details  I  may  state  that  Harris'  theory 
did  not  turn  out  correct. 

Its  elaboration,  however,  resulted  in  the  unrav- 
elment  of  the  crime,  and  the  motives  which 
prompted  it.  Harris  was  as  much  shocked  at 
the  denouement  as  the  writer  was,  and  as  the 
reader  undoubtedly  will  be. 

One  evening  in  the  autumn  of  1875  Harris 
called  upon  me  in  the  office,  and  said  he  had 
something  of  unusual  importance  for  my  private 
ear.  I  dispatched  my  work  as  rapidly  as  possi- 
ble, and  we  repaired  to  an  out-of-the-way  beer 
saloon,  where  we  could  talk  with  freedom. 

The  story  which  Harris  unfolded  was  deeply 
interesting.  I  will  give  it,  as  near  as  possible,  in 
his  own  words : 

4 'You  remember  the  Russell  murder,  Frank? 
I  have  got  the  right  scent  at  last.  Don' t  laugh 
until  you  hear  what  I  have  to  say.  I've  said 
little  about  the  matter  lately,  but  I  have  been 
working  unceasingly  on  the  case.  I  have  dis- 
covered the  murderess ! ' ' 


A  My»Lrious  Murder.  13 

I  suppose  I  looked  incredulous,  for  Harris  con- 
tinued, in  a  nettled  tone,  "Now,  don't  make  a 
fool  of  yourself  until  you  hear  the  facts.  You 
must  promise  me  faithfully  that  you  will  keep 
the  thing  quiet  until  I  give  you  permission  to 
publish." 

Newspaper  men  are  often  called  upon  to  give 
pledges  of  tfiis  character,  and  I  had  no  hesita- 
tion in  passing  my  word  that  nothing  should  be 
revealed  until  Harris  was  ready. 

"You  remember,"  resumed  the  young  detect- 
ive, "my  old  theory.  I  never  told  the  circum- 
stances upon  which  it  was  based,  but  I  must 
communicate  them  now  for  you  to  properly 
understand  what  I  am  going  to  tell  you.  You 
remember  that  the  servant  who  ushered  the 
strange  lady  into  the  room  where  Russell  was 
resting  on  the  couch,  told  of  her  caressingly 
stroking  the  victim's  head.  I  need  not  tell  you 
that  it  is  almost  impossible  for  a  woman  to  be  so 
near  a  man  and  leave  no  trace  of  her  presence. 
I  am  a  married  man  and  have  often  felt  sheepish 
when  my  wife  has  picked  a  long  hair  from  my 
coat,  although  I  could  take  an  oath  that  I  had 
been  up  to  nothing  wrong.  Well,  I  carefully 
examined  Russell' s  coat  collar,  and  was  rewarded 


14  Suppressed  Sensations. 

by  finding  a  hair  six  inches  in  length.  It  is 
here." 

Harris  pulled  out  his  pocket-book  and  pro- 
duced a  yellow  hair,  carefully  wrapped  in  tissue 
paper.  I  examined  it,  but  could  not  see  that  it 
differed  from  other  yellow  hairs.  The  detective 
must  have  noticed  this  from  the  expression  of 
my  face,  since  he  proceeded  with  his  yarn  with 
a  smile  indicative  of  superior  wisdom. 

"When  I  secured  this  prize,  I  knew  I  had  a 
clue  which  might  lead  to  the  detection  of  the 
murderess.  I  jumped  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
man  had  been  killed  by  a  blonde,  and  for  weeks 
I  tried  to  discover  who  the  fair  fiend  was.  My 
first  step  was  to  find  out  whether  Russell  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  'going  around.'  Careful 
inquiries  revealed  the  fact  that,  like  some  other 
married  men,  he  was  not  averse  to  forbidden 
fruit.  But  all  my  efforts  to  connect  him  with  a 
fair-haired  woman  were  fruitless.  He  seemed  to 
have  had  a  special  liking  for  dark  beauties. 

"I  pumped  the  widow  to  ascertain  whether 
she  knew  aught  of  her  husband's  public  habits, 
but  she  persisted  in  the  statement  that  Mr. 
Russell  acted  in  every  respect  like  a  model 
husband.  The  servants  could  give  me  no  satis 


* 

A  Mysterious  Murder.  15 

faction  with,  regard  to  quarrels  or  jealous  out- 
bursts. Had  it  not  been  for  the  knowledge  I 
gained  outside,  I  should  have  been  forced  to  the 
conclusion  that  the  murdered  merchant's  charac- 
ter was  of  the  most  correct  and  exemplary  kind. 
"  While  musing  over  the  case  in  a  country 
hotel,  one  day,  I  happened  to  pick  up  an  old 
and  tattered  copy  of  a  Chicago  daily.  My  eye 
came  across  the  following  *  personal  '  : 


T3EAUTIFUL  BLONDE.—  ^ill  the  lady  who  recognized  the 
'*—^  gentleman  at  the  corner  of  State  and  Madison,  yesterday, 
send  her  address,  in  confidence,  to  R.,  Box  595,  Post  Office. 

"It  may  have  been  the  word  'blonde,'  jump- 
ing  with  the  subject  uppermost  in  my  mind,  or  it 
may  have  been  some  kind  of  magnetic  inspira- 
tion, but  a  queer  sort  of  sensation  ran  through 
my  system,  and  I  felt  that  I  had  struck  another 
link  in  the  chain  of  evidence,  which  would  lead 
up  to  the  detection  and  punishment  of  the  assas- 
sin. I  looked  at  the  heading  of  the  paper.  It 
was  dated  six  days  before  the  murder.  I  seized 
a  time  table  and  found  that  a  train  left  for  Chi- 
cago in  fifteen  minutes.  To  settle  my  bill  and 
leave  my  job  in  the  hands  of  an  assistant,  was 
the  work  of  but  a  few  moments,  and  I  was  soon 
speeding  towards  Chicago. 


10  Suppressed  Sensations. 

"On  arriving,  I  took  a  carriage  and  drove  at 
once  to  the  post  office.  My  suspicion  was  con- 
firmed. Box  595,  at  the  time  of  the  murder,  was 
held  by  Russell ! 

"I  at  once  sought  a  consultation  with  my 
chief.  He  was  almost  as  excited  as  myself. 
'Harry,  my  boy,'  he  said,  'you  have  struck  it; 
go  ahead.'  We  agreed  upon  a  plan  of  opera- 
tions, but  I  need  not  bore  you  with  its  details. 

* '  I  hunted  up  the  domestic  who  accompanied 
the  strange  lady  to  the  room  of  Mr.  R.  She 
repeated  the  story  of  the  female  visitor  on  the 
fatal  night  being  closely  veiled,  and  added  that 
her  voice  was  soft  and  bell-like,  and  she  had 
yellow  hair. 

"I  searched  the  files  of  the  daily  paper  in 
which  the  advertisement  appeared,  but  could 
find  no  other  'personal'  which  seemed  to  bear 
on  the  case.  Two  things  were  certain  :  that  Mr. 
Russell  had  sought  an  appointment  with  a 
blonde  lady,  and  that  the  mysterious  visitor  at 
the  -  -  hotel  had  yellow  hair. 

"But  what  motive  could  a  strange  woman 
have  in  murdering  Russell  ?  Plunder  was  not 
the  object,  since  his  gold  watch,  money  and 
other  valuables  were  left  untouched  on  his  per- 


A  Mysterious  Murder.  17 

son.  There  was  no  evidence  pointing  towards  a 
quarrel.  The  position  of  the  dead  body  clearly 
indicated  that  the  man  was  lying  peacefully  on 
the  couch  when  the  fatal  shot  was  fired. 

"  I  tried  every  means  known  to  the  profession, 
to  discover  whether  Russell  had  received  a  letter 
from  the  blonde.  No  papers  of  any  consequence 
were  found  in  the  pockets  of  the  murdered  man. 
From  a  former  clerk  in  Russell' s  office,  I  learned 
that  the  second  day  after  the  appearance  of  the 
advertisement,  among  the  letters  was  one  ad- 
dressed simply  with  an  initial  and  the  number  of 
the  post  office  box.  This  the  merchant  read  first, 
and  thrust  into  the  rear  pocket  of  his  pants. 
Two  days  afterwards  another  letter  in  the  same 
handwriting,  but  fully  addressed,  came,  and  was 
torn  up  after  being  read  by  Mr.  Russell. 

' i  I  sought  an  interview  with  the  widow.  She 
told  me,  through  her  sobs,  that  her  husband  had 
stated  he  wouid  not  be  home  early,  on  the  even- 
ing of  the  murder.  He  gave  no  reason  and  she 
did  not  ask  one. 

4 'This  last  remark  struck  me  as  rather  singu- 
lar. Was  he  in  the  habit  of  staying  out  late 
without  tendering  a  reason  or  excuse  ?  No,  she 
had  never  known  it  to  happen  before. 


18  Suppressed  Sensations. 

"This,  also,  struck  me  as  singular.  The 
most  exemplary  husbands  stay  out  now  and 
then,  and  I  thought  Mrs.  Russell,  instead  of 
trying  to  aid  me  in  the  search  for  the  assassin, 
was  knowingly  keeping  back  necessary  infor- 
mation. 

"I  left  the  widow,  after  making  arrangements 
for  another  interview.  To  my  astonishment  the 
next  day  her  residence  was  advertised  for  imme- 
diate sale,  the  furniture  to  be  auctioned  the  fol- 
lowing day. 

"  I  attended  the  sale.  The  goods  were  sold  at 
an  immense  sacrifice,  and  a  chum  of  mine  took 
advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  purchase  a 
bureau  for  his  bedroom.  Mrs.  Russell  had  taken 
up  temporary  quarters  at  the  Palmer  House. 

"On  getting  the  bureau  to  his  lodgings,  my 
friend  began  to  dust  out  the  drawers.  On  open- 
ing one  he  found  an  old  yellow  wig,  done  up  in  a 
fashionable  shape.  He  mentioned  the  circum- 
stance to  me,  and  I  persuaded  him  to  give  me 
the  wig,  on  the  ground  that  it  would  be  useful  in 
my  professional  pursuits. 

"I  lost  no  time  in  taking  my  treasure  to  the 
office.  I  compared  the  hair  of  the  wig  with  the 
one  I  picked  from  off  Russell's  coat  collar. 


A  Mysterious  Murder.  19 

They  were  exactly  alike  in  color  and  texture.  I 
procured  a  strong  microscope  and  by  the  aid  of 
its  piercing  vision  found  similarities  which  could 
not  be  seen  by  the  naked  eye.  I  went  in  search 
of  all  the  yellow  wigs  in  the  city.  With  none 
did  the  hair  correspond  in  every  particular  as 
with  the  wig  found  in  the  bureau. 

"I  became  convinced  that  the  person  who  shot 
Russell  wore  that  old  yellow  wig! 

"But  to  make  assurance  doubly  sure,  I  con- 
sulted an  able  scientist — a  gentleman  who  has 
rendered  valuable  services  in  numerous  intricate 
murder  cases.  I  entrusted  the  single  hair  to  his 
handsv  with  a  request  that  he  should  make  a 
report  as  to  its  peculiarities,  if  it  possessed  any. 
In  two  weeks'  time  I  received  his  report.  It  was, 
of  course,  full  of  technicalities  and  scientific 
jargon,  but  the  pith  was  that  the  hair  had  not 
fallen  from  the  head  of  a  living  person ! 

' '  His  reasons  for  this  opinion  were  abstruse, 
but  were  none  the  less  convincing.  He  pointed 
out  certain  peculiarities  about  the  roots  of  hu- 
man hair  which  he  failed  to  find  in  the  one  I  had 
submitted  for  his  inspection.  This,  he  was  pre- 
pared to  prove  by  scientific  reasoning,  was  cut 
from  a  woman' s  head. 


Suppressed  Sensations. 


I  next  took  him  the  yellow  wig,  and  after  a 
few  moments  of  comparison,  he  positively  de- 
clared that  the  hair  which  I  had  taken  from  the 
coat  collar  dropped  therefrom  !  " 

Harris  paused  at  this  juncture.  He  evidently 
expected  me  to  make  some  remark,  and  I  asked 
if  he  had  imparted  to  me  the  full  extent  of  his 
researches. 


A  Mysterious  Murder.  21 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  emphatically  ;  u  But  I  can 
Lay  my  finger  on  the  murderess  at  any  moment ! " 

"Who  in  the  world  is  she?"  I  inquired,  half 
expecting  what  his  answer  would  be. 

"Mrs.  Russell,"  was  the  rejoinder,  given  in  a 
stage  whisper. 

"But  the  finding  of  this  wig  in  a  bureau 
which  formerly  belonged  to  her  is  not  conclusive 
proof  that  she  committed  the  horrible  crime,"  I 
reasoned. 

"Perhaps  not  to  the  reportorial  mind,  but  it  is 
to  mine.  Listen.  The  stories  the  widow  has 
told  about  their  happy  marital  relations  are  all 
bosh.  My  theory  now  is,  that  she  loved  Russell 
to  distraction.  His  pecadillos  became  known  to 
her,  and  she  was  fired  with  jealousy.  She  saw 
this  '  personal '  I  have  spoken  of.  She  answered 
it,  appointing  a  time  and  place  of  meeting.  Her 
whole  moral  nature  revolted  at  this  last  evidence 
of  her  husband' s  infidelity.  She  worked  herself 
up  to  a  frenzy  of  passion.  She  determined  to  keep 
the  appointment,  perhaps  at  first  with  the  hope 
that  she  might  win  Russell  back  to  a  life  of 
rectitude.  She  disguised  herself  in  the  old  wig, 
the  better  to  carry  out  her  plans.  She  entered 
the  room  and  found  her  recreant  spouse  sleeping 


22  Suppressed  Sensations. 

calmly  while  awaiting  the  coming  of  another. 
The  demon  of  revenge  and  hatred  got  possession 
of  her.  She  fired  the  fatal  shot  and  sent  the 
guilty  soul  of  her  husband  into  eternity  !  Then 
she  hurried  from  the  house.  I  am  ready  to  stake 
my  professional  reputation  on  the  correctness  of 
this  theory." 

I  muttered  something  about  its  being  strange 
that  none  of  the  inmates  of  the  house  heard  the 
report  of  the  pistol. 

"Oh,"  said  Harris,  "there  is  nothing  peculiar 
about  that.  You  know  the  racket  that  is 
often  kicked  up  in  the  parlors  of  hotels.  My 
explanation  is,  that  there  was  a  boisterous 
party  in  the  house  at  the  time,  and  the  noise 
of  the  shot  escaped  attention  amid  the  general 
confusion." 

"Well,  what  do  you  propose  to  do  ? "  was  my 
next  query. 

"Do?"  he  rejoined,  with  a  glitter  of  excite- 
ment in  his  eyes,  "I  am  going  to  frighten  her 
into  a  confession.  If  I  can  bring  this  case  to  a 
successful  end,  I  am  made  for  life.  It' s  too  good 
a  chance  for  a  young  fellow  to  miss." 

He  then  told  me  that  Mrs.  Russell  was  in  Boston 
living  quietly  with  some  relatives.  Next  day  he 


A  Mysterious  Murder.  23 

was  to  start  East  to  put  his  plan  into  execution. 
I  was  to  be  prepared  to  write  up  the  sensation 
big  on  the  receipt  of  telegraphic  intimation  of  his 
success.  In  the  meantime  I  was  to  keep  my  own 
counsel. 

The  following  day  I  was  surprised  by  an- 
other visit  from  the  detective.  There  was  a 
troubled,  disappointed  look  on  his  face,  and 
I  at  once  thought  that  his  pet  theory  had 
collapsed  in  some  way  or  other.  He  did  not 
wait  for  questions,  but  in  a  sepulchral  tone 
exclaimed  : 

"It's  all  over.     Mrs.  Russell  is  dead  !  " 

After  recovering  from  my  astonishment,  I 
asked  eagerly  for  particulars. 

"  Read  these,"  he  replied,  thrusting  two  letters 
into  my  hands. 

The  first  contained  a  simple  announcement  that 
Mrs.  Russell  had  died  very  suddenly,  and  that 
among  her  papers  the  second  letter  was  found 
securely  sealed,  with  an  indorsement  that  it 
should  be  sent  to  Harris  immediately  after  the 
writer's  death. 

It  is  necessary  for  the  purposes  of  this  narra- 
tive that  the  sealed  letter  should  be  given  in  full, 
It  was  as  follows : 


24  Suppressed  Sensations. 

"  To  MR.  H.  HARRIS, 

" 's  Detective  Agency,  Chicago. 

"  MY  DEAR  FRIEND— I  feel  that  my  life  is  fast  ebbing  away. 
Before  I  die  I  wish  to  make  a  confession  which  perhaps  inter- 
ests you  now  more  than  any  one  else.  It  is  hard  to  do  so,  but  I 
feel  I  must.  The  shocking  truth  must  come  out. 

" My  husband  met  his  death  at  my  hands! 

"  I  know  this  horrible  revelation  will  shock  you  deeply,  but 
I  make  it  so  that  you  need  not  look  any  further  for  the 
murderer. 

" 1  was  driven  to  the  deed  by  jealousy.  I  loved  my  husband 
dearly — so  dearly  that  I  preferred  his  death  to  dishonor, — for 
is  it  not  dishonorable  to  leave  a  lawful,  loving  wife  for  the 
embraces  of  lewd  and  mercenary  women  ? 

"  The  appointment  at  the Hotel  was  made  with  me.    I 

saw  a  '  personal '  in  a  morning  paper  and  answered  it  under  a 
false  name.  The  burning  words  of  love  with  which  my  husband 
replied  made  me  wild.  I  could  think  of  nothing  but  my  dis- 
carded affection.  I  could  not  keep  down  the  mad  promptings  of 
revenge. 

"  I  visited  the  house,  disguised  in  a  blonde  wig  which  I  had  often 
used  in  private  theatricals.  My  husband  was  asleep  on  the  couch. 
For  a  moment  my  resolution  staggered.  I  stroked  his  head 
gently,  and  had  thoughts  of  falling  at  his  feet  and  beseeching 
him  to  give  me  back  his  love.  He  muttered  a  name  in  his  sleep, 
which  froze  my  good  resolve. 

"I  sprang  from  his  side.  A  paroxysm  of  rage  and  jealousy 
seized  me.  I  raised  a  pistol  and  fired !  The  bullet  did  its  work 
only  too  well.  My  husband  neither  moved  nor  groaned.  I  saw 
the  blood  ooze  from  his  temple  and  knew  that  I  had  killed 
him  !  I  rushed  from  the  house.  The  shot  had  not  been  heard, 


A  Mysterious  Murder.  25 


for  the  sound  of  the  piano  and  of  conversation  and  merry 
laughter  still  came  from  the  parlor. 

"I  went  home.  My  absence  had  not  been  noticed.  I  was 
possessed  with  a  stony  calmness.  I  undressed  and  went  to  bed 
as  usual,  and,  strange  to  say,  I  slept. 

"No  sooner  had  I  awoke  in  the  morning  than  the  terrible 
crime  flashed  upon  me  in  all  its  naked  horror.  I  thought  of 
giving  myself  up  to  justice,  but  eventually  decided  that  enough 
misery  had  been  imposed  on  our  families  by  my  rash  deed.  I 
nerved  myself  up  to  act  the  part  which  you  witnessed. 

"All  the  time  my  heart  was  breaking.  Oh!  the  pangs  of 
remorse  I  suffered ! 

"I  tried  to  ease  my  conscience  by  telling  of  my  husband's 
love  and  devoted  attention.  But  the  experiment  only  imposed 
upon  me  two-fold  misery.  At  last  I  was  compelled  to  leave  the 
scene  of  my  crime. 

"But  travel  did  not  cure  the  canker  of  remorse.  Wherever  I 
went  I  saw  the  dead  body  of  my  husband,  with  the  blood  oozing 
out  of  his  ghastly  forehead. 

"  I  came  to  my  relatives  here.  I  knew  I  had  not  long  to  live. 
The  excitement  of  the  previous  year  had  undermined  a  constitu- 
tion never  strong.  I  write  now  with  the  cold  sweat  of  death  on 
my  hands. 

"  I  make  this  confession  to  you  freely.  You  deserve  as  much 
from  my  hands,  since  you  have  spent  many  weary  hours  in 
unraveling  what  is  no  longer  a  mystery  to  you. 

"  Do  with  this  what  you  please.  I  have  no  request  to  make. 
But  oh !  remember  that  you  have  in  your  keeping  the  horri- 
ble secret  of  a  woman,  soon  to  be  cold  in  death,  who  was 
driven  to  crime  by  an  unrequited  passion. 

" Farewell!    God  bless  you  !  ADA  RUSSELL." 


Suppressed  Sensations. 


I  must  say  that  the  pathos  of  these  dying 
words  of  a  wretched  woman  affected  me  deeply. 
Harris  seemed  also  very  much  cut  up.  We 
consulted  as  to  the  advisability  of  publishing 
full  particulars  of  the  crime.  Harris,  however, 
sank  all  feelings  of  personal  ambition,  and 
declared  against  publication  on  the  ground  that 
it  could  do  no  possible  good.  Although  such  a 
splendid  "scoop"  would  have  added  vastly 
to  my  reputation,  out  of  feelings  of  humanity  I 
agreed  to  suppress  the  sensation. 


LEAF     II. 


THE  ROMANCE  OF  A  TRAMP. 


LONG  in  the  sum 

L  mer  of  1878 1  was 
~  sojourning  for  a 
-few  days  in  the 
little  town  of 

C ,  on  the 

Illinois     Cen- 
tral Road,  en- 
gaged in   the 
if    laborious    task 
of    collecting    in- 
formation about  the 
crops,    and   naturally 
enough  I  found  a  breath- 
ing place  in  the  only  re- 
spectable   hotel    the    village 
boasted    of.      The  landlord,   a 
gossipy,  genial  fellow,    had    for- 
merly  been  a  hotel  clerk  in  Chicago, 

(27) 


28  Suppressed  Sensations. 

and  remembered  me  as  an  indomitable  investi- 
gator into  the  mysteries  of  his  register  in  old 
days.  It  was,  perhaps,  to  this  circumstance  that 
I  was  indebted  for  an  inside  glimpse  into  the 
strange,  eventful  history  I  am  about  to  relate. 

The  village  was  suffering  at  the  time  from  the 
annual  influx  of  tramps,  and  mine  host  had  had 
his  full  share  of  the  infliction — or,  as  he  called  it, 
the  inflation. 

"The  devil  take  them  all,"  said  he,  in  a  burst 
of  honest  indignation — but,  suddenly  checking 
himself,  he  added — "and  still,  poor  devils,  they 
are  perhaps  not  all  to  blame  for  their  miseries." 

"There's  a  case,"  he  continued,  "that  I  have 
somehow  taken  an  unaccountable  interest  in, 
because  it  don't  seem  quite  a  common  case  of 
tramp." 

The  "case"  referred  to  was  sitting  on  the  top 
of  an  empty  beer  keg,  munching  a  crust  of  bread, 
and  seeming  to  pay  no  attention  to  what  was 
going  on  around  him,  except  when  the  landlord's 
glance  turned  in  his  direction,  when  he  would 
make  an  uneasy  movement,  and  pull  his  cap 
down  over  his  eyes  as  if  seeking  to  shun 
scrutiny.  He  was  a  haggard,  woe-begone  look- 
ing individual,  without  anything  to  mark  him 


Romance  of  a  Tramp.  29 

____^___________ / ^__ 

as  distinct  from  the  ordinary  vagrant,  save  a  cer 
tain  something  that  denoted  a  kind  of  frayed 
gentility. 

"I  have  met  that  man  somewhere,"  pursued 
the  landlord,  "and  I'm  going  to  find  out  where. 
I  think  I'll  give  him  a  bed  for  the  night,  just  for 
fun." 

And  he  followed  up  his  resolve  by  at  once 
going  to  the  stranger  and  proffering  him  a  shelter 
for  the  night. 

As  the  man  turned  round  to  say  a  word  of 
thanks,  my  Boniface,  after  a  keen  look  into  the 
other' s  face,  seized  him  sharply  by  the  arm,  and 
exclaimed : 

"Look  here,  haven't  I  met  you  somewhere 
before?" 

" That's  hardly  likely,"  said  the  man,  uforl 
have  never  been  in  this  part  of  the  country  till 


now." 


"  Isn't  your  name  Howson,  and  weren't  you  a 
doctor  of  medicine  in  New  Hampshire  once  V ' 

The  effect  of  this  question  was  to  start  the 
stranger  to  his  feet,  and  to  cause  the  sweat  to 
stand  in  beads  upon  his  brow. 

"  For  God's  sake,"  he  gasped,  in  a  beseeching 
i one,  "don't  say  a  word.  You  wouldn't  give 


30  Suppressed  Sensations. 

me  away,  would  you  ?    How  did  you  know  me  \ 
Do  you  know  who  I  am  ? " 

"If  I'm  not  mistaken,  I  think  I  know  you 
pretty  well.  I  have  a  good  memory  for  faces — 
it's  my  business,  you  know.  So  your  name  is 
Howson,  then?" 

"Well,  what  if  it  is,"  said  the  granger, 
lenly,  "  did  you  never  meet  a  fellow  of  that  name 
before?"  [This  was  a  bit  of  bravado  evidently 
aimed  toward  me,  for  I  was  listening  intently  to 
the  colloquy.  I  shifted  my  seat,  but  kept  within 
earshot  of  what  followed.] 

Said  the  landlord:  "You  gave  yourself  away  a 
minute  ago.  Now  don't  try  and  bluff,  and  don't 
be  scared  about  me.  I  know  some  things  that 
might  astonish  people.  Don't  you  know  what 
became  of  Ellen  Elroy  \ " 

"I  heard  that  she  had  gone  to  the  devil,"  said 
Howson,  ' '  and  I  suppose  that' s  the  case.  I  know 
/  have,  and  if  you  mean  to  give  me  up,  why— 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  the  landlord,  "I  mean 
to  give  you  a  bed.  I  suppose  you  led  her  to  the 
devil,  as  you  say,  but  she  never  got  quite  there. 
She  found  her  way  home  in  the  long  run." 

The  tramp  began  to  look  more  nervous  than 
ever. 


Romance  of  a  Tramp.  31 

"Do  you  mean  that  she  went  back  to  her 
father's  house  ? "  he  said,  anxiously. 

"  Well,  she  got  there  finally,  I  believe,  but  be- 
fore that,  she  was  picked  up  in  Chicago  as  a  com- 
mon vagrant  and  sent  to  the  Bridewell.  Some- 
body, I  won't  say  who,  got  her  out,  and  she  went 
home  "  f  1  one  day  she  was  found  dead,  not 
far  from  the  old  man's  house." 

This  intelligence  appeared  to  relieve  the  mind 
of  Howson,  and  he  was  visibly  anxious  to  escape 
further  investigation  by  accepting  the  offer  of 
shelter.  He  was  put  into  a  vacant  room,  where 
he  crept  into  a  "shake-down"  in  the  corner,  drew 
a  quilt  over  his  head,  and  to  all  appearance  fell 
asleep. 

We  did  not  retire  to  rest  that  night,  for  the 
landlord  was  considerably  wrought  up  over  the 
meeting,  and,  as  may  be  imagined,  I  was  all  agog 
to  pluck  out  the  heart  of  the  mystery. 

"What  a  strange  chance  it  was  that  brought 
that  man  here,"  said  he  ;  "it  is  just  fifteen  years 
ago  this  very  month  that  Dr.  Howson  disappeared 
from  his  home,  and  he  has  never  been  seen  or 
heard  of  since." 

"Who  is  he,  and  who  was  Ellen  Elroy,   and 

what  did  he  run  away  for,  and  why  did  she  jump 
3 


32  Suppressed  Sensations. 

into  the  Chicago  Bridewell,"  said  I ;  "  Come,  old 
man,  this  will  be  a  good  sensation." 

"That's  all  you  fellows  think  of,"  returned  he, 
" — a  good  sensation!  yes,  a  mighty  curious  one 
this,  if  you  knew  it  all.  But  I  have  good  reasons 
for  keeping  this  thing  out  of  sight,  as  no  good 
could  ever  come  now  of  its  publication,  and  may- 
be lots  of  trouble.  Besides  I  couldn't  identify 
him,  and  if  I  could  — •  Tell  you  what  I  will  do," 
he  said,  after  a  reflective  pause,  "I  will  tell  you 
all  about  it,  but  only  on  condition  that  you  give 
me  your  word  of  honor  not  to  write  it  up  for  the 
papers.  I  have  my  reasons." 

I  reluctantly  gave  him  my  pledge,  and  he  forth- 
with put  me  in  possession  of  a  family  history  which 
offers  a  striking  illustration  of  the  old  adage  that 
truth  is  stranger  than  fiction.  The  narrative  ran 
somewhat  as  follows  : — 

Not  very  long  ago  a  woman  was  arrested  in 
Chicago  near  Polk  Street  bridge.  She  was  evi- 
dently a  stranger  in  the  city,  and  it  was  remarked 
that  while  her  clothes  denoted  a  condition  of  ab- 
ject poverty,  the  face  was  one  of  singular  beauty, 
and  wore  an  expression  such  as  belongs  only  to 
well  bred  people.  On  being  taken  to  the  police 
she  was  denounced  as  an  old  bummer,  and  Ben- 


Romance  of  a  Tramp.  33 

tenced  as  such  to  the  usual  term  in  the  Bridewell. 
She  gave  her  name  to  the  magistrate  as  Alice 
Enright,  but  on  searching  her,  as  is  customary, 
the  policeman  found  a  small  faded  pocket  book 
containing  a  card,  one  old  photograph,  and  a  few 
apparently  unimportant  memoranda.  These  were 
exhibited  to  the  privileged  professional  gentle- 
men at  the  station,  and  that  seemed  to  be  the  end 
of  it. 

To  only  one  man  in  the  city  did  these  scraps 
convey  any  significance,  and  he,  for  reasons  best 
known  to  himself,  chose  to  give  his  surmises  no 
publicity.  This  man  was  none  other  than  my 
landlord,  then  a  clerk  in  one  of  our  hotels. 

"I  learned  the  whole  truth  afterward,"  said  he, 
"  and  found  that  my  suspicions  had  been  correct.1' 

This  woman  was  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy 
gentleman  of  New  Hampshire,  whose  family  are 
still  living  there.  His  name  was  Elroy.  He  was 
a  haughty,  imperious  man,  proud  of  his  wealth, 
and  still  prouder  of  his  lineage,  which  he  drew 
from  one  of  the  aristocratic  names  of  the  mother 
country.  His  only  child,  a  daughter,  was  the 
joy  and  pride  of  his  heart.  Upon  her  he  lavished 
all  the  affection  in  his  nature,  and  all  that  wealth 
could  do  was  devoted  to  her  mental  and  physical 


34  Suppressed  Sensations. 

nurture.  And  a  bright  and  beautiful  girl  she 
grew  up  to  be,  excelling  in  all  the  accomplish- 
ments that  conduce  to  make  a  charming  woman. 

The  time  came  when  Ellen  was  of  marriageable 
age,  and  this  was  an  event  to  which  the  father 
had  long  looked  forward  with  eager  expectancy, 
for  he  had  set  his  heart  on  wedding  her  to  a  young 
nephew  who  bore  the  family  name,  so  that 
the  possessions  might  descend  in  an  unbroken 
line  to  his  posterity. 

The  nephew  was  a  young  man  of  negative 
qualities  as  to  mind,  but  irreproachable  in  his 
conduct,  and  devotedly  attached  to  his  beautiful 
cousin.  Ellen,  on  the  other  hand,  regarded  her 
fiancee  with  only  a  mild  respect,  and  she  was  de- 
cidedly averse  to  marrying  him.  She  rather  pre- 
ferred the  companionship  of  a  young  medical 
student,  between  whom  and  herself  there  existed, 
it  was  whispered,  a  feeling  warmer  than  esteem. 
In  fact,  the  gossips  remarked  that  the  flirtation 
between  young  Howson  and  Ellen  was  getting  to 
a  point  where  it  was  time  to  put  a  stop  to  it. 

By  and  bye  matters  came  to  a  crisis.  The 
daughter  was  offered  the  alternative  of  marrying 
>ier  cousin,  or  of  being  disinherited,  and  the  girl, 
knowing  the  unrelenting  temper  of  her  parent 


Romance  of  a  Tramp.  35 

when  his  will  was  thwarted,  after  a  struggle  to 
have  her  own  way,  succumbed. 

The  marriage  took  place;  the  happy  couple 
went  through  their  honey-moon,  like  any  other 
happy  couple ;  and  so  the  romance  was  at  an 
end,  for  the  time  being, 

But  only  for  a  time.  In  these  days  the  real 
romance  too  often  only  begins  at  the  tying  of  the 
nuptial  knot ;  and  so  it  was  with  our  wedded  pair. 
To  all  appearance  they  were  what  the  world 
would  call  a  perfectly  well  mated  couple — she 
gracing  her  position  with  becoming  dignity,  and 
lie  devoting  himself  to  her  with  an  affectionate 
solicitude  that  could  not  but  win  her  respect. 

But  there  was  ua  little  rift  within  the  lute," 
and  there  came  a  shadow  on  the  horizon  of  their 
wedded  life,  "no  bigger  than  a  man's  hand," 
which  was  soon  to  envelope  them  in  the  dark 
s;orm  of  fate. 

About  a  year  after  an  heir  to  the  house  of  Elroy 
came  into  the  world,  there  arrived  again  in  the 
neighborhood  the  young  physician  who  has 
already  been  introduced  into  this  narrative. 
Being  of  respectable  connections"  he  very  soon 
got  into  a  good  practice,  and  there  seemed  to  be 
n.o  reason  why  he  should  not  resume  his  acquaint- 


36  Suppressed  Sensations. 

/ 

ance  with  the  friends  of  his  youth.  In  fact,  he 
became  a  frequent  visitor  to  their  home,  and  was 
welcomed  both  by  the  husband  and  wife  as  an 
old  friend.  Nor  did  there  arise  in  the  minds  of 
the  family  a  suspicion  of  any  undue  intimacy 
between  the  young  wife  and  her  former  lover ; 
and  indeed,  their  conduct  was  at  no  time  such  as 
to  warrant  such  an  inference.  On  the  contrary, 
the  husband  and  the  doctor  became  fast  friends, 
so  that  when  one  day  the  former  was  seized  with 
a  serious  illness,  the  latter  was  sent  for  to  attend 
him.  The  illness  assumed  an  alarming  phase, 
and  after  lingering  in  sore  agony  for  many  days 
the  husband  died. 

He  died,  and  the  event  made  the  customary 
stir  and  tumult  among  the  relatives  until  he  was 
quietly  interred ;  and  the  widow  put  on  her 
weeds,  and  received  with  quiet  resignation  the 
condolences  of  her  friends ;  and  the  family 
physician  handed  in  his  certificate,  and  attended 
the  funeral. 

It  was  now  that  the  conduct  of  the  physician 
began  to  arouse  the  curiosity  of  some  of  the 
relatives,  and  people  who  have  a  happy  knack 
of  "putting  this  and  that  together"  were  not 
slow  in  hinting  that  there  was  something  wrong 


38  Suppressed  Sensations. 

somewhere.  These  murmurs  grew  more  ominous 
as  the  days  went  on,  and  eventually  it  was  sug- 
gested by  a  friend  of  the  family,  who  said  he 
knew  of  something,  that  the  body  should  be 
exhumed,  and  an  examination  made.  The  ' '  some- 
thing" hinted  at  was  the  discovery  in  the  bed- 
room of  the  dead  man,  of  certain  preparations  of 
arsenic.  There  had  been  nothing  in  the  disease 
to  warrant  the  administration  of  this  drug,  and 
now  it  was  remembered  that  the  symptoms  were 
those  which  might  be  produced  by  arsenic. 

When  Howson  was  informed  of  the  intention 
to  exhume  the  remains  he  turned  deadly  pale, 
but  controlling  himself  with  an  effort  he  sought 
to  pooh-pooh  the  matter,  until  seeing  there  was 
a  fixed  determination  to  have  a  resurrection  of 
the  body,  he  professed  his  acquiescence  and 
intimated  his  entire  willingness  to  assist  at  the 
autopsy. 

But  on  the  day  when  the  remains  of  young 
Elroy  were  to  be  exhumed  and  submitted  to  an 
examination  of  experts,  Dr.  Howson  was  nowhere 
to  be  found.  He  had  disappeared,  and  it  turned 
out  that  his  disappearance  had  been  discovered 
early  on  the  evening  preceding  the  day  of  the 
exhumation. 


Romance  of  a  Tramp.  39 

The  post  mortem  revealed  quite  clearly  the  fact 
that  Elroy  had  been  poisoned,  and  it  only  re- 
mained to  find  the  murderer.  The  missing 
physican  was  at  once  pointed  out  as  the  culprit, 
and  as  a  natural  consequence  tongues  began  to 
be  busy  in  defaming  the  unhappy  widow.  His 
intimacy  with  the  family  and  his  former  relations 
with  Mrs.  Elroy  were  accepted  as  proof  strong  as 
holy  writ  that  there  were  a  pair  of  guilty  ones  in 
the  dark  transaction.  And  although  none  had 
dared  to  point  the  finger  of  suspicion  at  her, 
there  were  not  wanting  those  who  circulated 
bits  of  insidious  gossip  which  slowly  sapped  her 
fair  fame,  and  began  to  make  life  a  weariness 
to  her. 

Worst  of  all,  her  father,  to  whose  wish  she  had 
sacrificed  her  first  maidenly  love,  turned  his  stern 
face  coldly  upon  her.  She  had  nothing  now  left 
to  her  but  her  boy. 

One  evening,  immediately  succeeding  the  occur- 
rences just  narrated,  the  child  was  about  to  repeat 
his  "Now  I  lay  me,"  when,  looking  up  into  his 
mother's  face,  he  lisped  out  these  words,  terrible 
to  a  mother's  heart :  "  Mamma,  my  gra'pa  says  I 
must  only  say  Go'  bless  papa  now." 

The  horrible  truth  flashed  on  her  mind  that  her 


40  Suppressed  Sensations. 

father  suspected  her  of  complicity  in  the  murder 
of  her  husband. 

The  next  day  a  new  theme  was  furnished  the 
gossips  of  the  district  by  the  sudden  disappear- 
ance of  Mrs.  Elroy,  who  had  of  course  gone  off 

to  join  her  paramour  and  the  partner  of  her  guilt. 
***** 

Had  she  gone  to  him  ?  Ah,  murder,  they  say, 
will  out,  but  who  shall  say  on  what  day  the 
mysteries  of  the  human  heart  are  to  be  unveiled  ! 
Perhaps  not  even  at  the  judgment  seat  of  the 
Most  High. 

At  the  close  of  this  sad  history  we  may  be 
able  to  catch  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  the  truth. 

Let  the  reader  here  imagine  for  himself  where 
that  doubly,  trebly  forsaken  woman  went.  There 
would  be  many  and  various  surmises.  Did  she 
sneak  away  from  her  home  and  her  child  to  unite 
her  fortunes  with  a  murderer  and  a  seducer  ?  Did 
she  burst  away  from  her  home  in  wrath  and 
agony,  seeing  nothing  in  the  garden  that  she 
loved  but  the  angel  with  the  flaming  sword,  for- 
bidding her  to  re-enter  the  hallowed  doors  ?  Or, 
did  she  wander  forth,  like  Hagar  in  the  desert, 
only  without  the  solace  of  a  Hagar — her  only 
boy — despair  in  her  soul,  and  seeking  after  a  just 


Romance  of  a  Tramp.  41 

retribution,  which  God  only  knew  was  her  recom- 
pense ! 

All  that  was  known  was  that  Ellen  Elroy  was 
gone  from  her  home,  and  only  a  few,  a  very  few 
kindly  souls  had  the  courage  to  say  that  per- 
haps after  all  she  was  more  sinned  against  than 

sinning. 

*  *  #  #  •* 

During  the  Colvin  Administration  one  afternoon 
a  shabbily  dressed  woman,  who  had  all  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  lady,  came  into  the  Mayor' s  office, 
and  made  a  piteous  appeal  to  his  Honor.  She 
said  her  father  was  dying  and  she  must  go  to  him 
before  he  died. 

"Where  does  your  father  live?"  said  the 
Mayor. 

"In  New  Hampshire,"  said  the  woman;  "it's 
far  away,  but  there's  much  depends  on  this — more 
than  I  can  tell  you,  and  I  haven' t  a  penny  nor  a 
friend  in  the  world.  Can't  you  help  me  on  ? " 

The  good-hearted  Mayor  perceived  a  "some- 
thing above  the  common  ' '  in  his  petitioner,  and 
with  his  accustomed  generosity,  he,  after  suitable 
inquiry,  helped  her  along  to  her  destination.  This 
circumstance  was  reported,  with  sundry  other 
items  of  municipal  gossip,  at  the  moment,  and 


42  Suppressed  Sensations. 

passed  to  where  all  good  items  go,  without  com- 
ment. 

[The  narrator  desires  to  say  here  that  the  above 
circumstance  has  been  inserted  in  this  place  after 
a  careful  comparison  of  some  old  notes  of  events 
with  my  landlord's  narration.  It  is  important  as 
a  link  in  the  chain.] 

Just  at  this  time,  in  his  palatial  residence  in 
New  Hampshire,  an  old  man  was  lying  in  the 
daily  expectation  of  death.  His  worldly  affairs 
had  all  been  arranged,  and  he  was  looking  for- 
ward to  other  prospects  in  the  kingdom  to  come. 
One  evening  he  was  told  that  a  poor  woman— 
a  tramp — had  been  driven  away  from  his  door — a 
bad  looking,  miserable  looking  creature. 

"Take«her  into  the  kitchen,"  said  the  dying 
man,  "if  she  comes  back  again,  and  give  her 
something  to  eat." 

The  next  night  she  came  again,  and  they  gave 
her  to  eat  and  drink.  She  was  a  forlorn,  haggard, 
almost  forbidding  object,  with  hollow,  bloodshot 
eyes  and  hunger-bitten  cheeks. 

She  said  to  the  servant :  "  My  father  is  dying, 
and  I  want  to  see  him." 

The  servant  went  up  to  the  dying  man  and  told 
him  the  woman  down  there  was  mad. 


Romance  of  a  Tramp.  43 

They  sent  her  away. 

The  day  after  she  came  back  to  the  house.  She 
said  to  the  housekeeper, "  Tell  Mr.  Elroy  that  I  am 
his  daughter  Ellen,  and  that  I  must  see  him 
before  he  dies." 

" His  daughter,"  said  the  housekeeper,  "has 
been  dead  many  years.  You  must  get  away 
from  here,  my  poor  woman." 

Does  my  father  know  that  his  daughter  is 
dead? 

"He  has  known  that  long  ago, — but  go  away 

from  here,  or  you' 11  disturb  him,  and  he's  dying." 

-  "My  God  !  it's  because  he's  dying  that  I  must 

see  him,  and  that  at  once.     Let  me  go  to  him, 

and  he  will  know  me." 

The  impassioned  creature  broke  past  the  ancient 
servitor  and  rushed  up  the  long  flight  of  stairs 
till  she  reached  the  bedside  of  the  dying  man.  A 
physician  and  other  attendants  there  tried  to  in- 
tercept her,  but  she  reached  the  bed,  and  kneeling 
down  cried  out : 

"  Father,  I  am  Ellen,  don't  you  know  me  ? " 

Ragged,  wayworn,  defaced  by  misery,  sorrow, 
want,  and  wrong — it  was  perhaps  no  wonder  that 
the  dying  man  shook  his  head  and  told  the  doctor 
to  take  the  poor  mad  creature  away. 


-*-%£ 
J3&K 


She  was 

again  thrust  from 
"the  doors  and  driven  into 
the  dark,  bitter  midnight. 
The  next  morning 
the  dead   body  of  a 
> woman  was  found  in 
a  small  pond  adjoin- 
ing the  grounds  of  the 
house.      It  was  that  of 
vthe  poor  mad  creature  who 
had   been   twice   thrust  away 
from  her  father' s  door. 

(44) 


Romance  of  a  Tramp.  45 

The  peace  of  God  was  in  her  looks.  Death, 
the  great  leveler,  the  great  beautifier,  had  recog- 
nized the  wanderer,  and  with  his  merciful  hand 
had  effaced  all  traces  of  her  earthly  sufferings. 
The  poor  rags  still  clung  about  her  wasted  form, 
but  her  face  wore  the  smile  her  mother  would 
have  known.  The  weary  soul  was  at  rest. 

They  bore  her  to  her  old  home  and  told  the  old 
man  that  his  child  had  come.  With  his  dying 
eyes  he  looked  upon  the  face  he  had  seen  the 
night  before  but  did  not  know — that  he  saw  now 
and  recognized. 

In  death  they  were  not  divided. 

***** 

When  the  landlord  ended  his  recital  the  dawn 
was  peeping  through  the  casement,  and  I  went  to 
bed.  Before  I  fell  asleep,  however,  I  heard  a 
sound  outside  my  window,  and  peeping  cautious- 
ly out,  I  was  amazed  to  see  our  tramp  and  the 
landlord  engaged  in  a  low  but  earnest  conversa- 
tion. Howson  had  a  small  bundle  in  his  hand, 
and  after  saying  a  hurried  good-bye,  he  made  his 
way  rapidly  down  the  dusty  road  and  was  lost 
to  my  view. 

"In  the  name  of  all  that's  wonderful,"  I  said 
to  the  landlord  in  the  morning,  "  what  prompted 


46  Suppressed  Sensations. 

you  to  connive  at  that  scoundrel's  escape? 
Aren't  you  sure  of  your  man  \ " 

"As  sure  as  I  am  of  my  breakfast,"  he  re- 
turned, "but  I  have  another  secret  to  tell  you, 
since  I  have  trusted  you  so  far.  I  would  not  tell 
you  that  if  you  had  not  seen  me  let  him  go." 

"  What  is  that  ? "  I  asked,  in  wonder. 

"  That  man  you  saw  go  from  my  house  this 
morning — you  will  keep  this  to  yourself?" 

"Surely." 

"He  is  my  wife's  only  brother." 

"One  thing  more — was  Ellen  Elroy  guilty?" 

"I  would  give  the  world  to  know,"  said  the 
landlord,  "but  he  would  not  tell,  and  now  we 

may  never  know  that  mystery." 

#  *  *  *  # 

Last  winter  a  wretched  vagrant  was  found  half 
dead  from  hunger  and  cold  on  the  streets  of 
Chicago,  and  was  carried  to  the  County  Hospital. 
He  absolutely  refused  to  give  his  name,  or  tell 
where  he  came  from,  so  he  was  entered  as  plain 
John  Smith.  He  was  dying. 

About  two  hours  before  the  end  came,  he  called 
the  nurse  to  his  bedside,  and,  fumbling  in  his 
breast  for  something,  drew  forth  a  tattered  and 
greasy  pocket  book. 


Romance  of  a  Tramp.  47 

" There  is  nothing  in  it  that's  of  any  impor- 
tance to  any  one  here,"  he  gasped.  "  There  is 
but  one  man  living  that  it  could  have  any  mean- 
ing for."  He  added,  breathing  hard  as  he  neared 
the  grim  portal,  ' ( if  you  have  any  pity  for  a  poor 
dying  man,  will  you  send  this  to  the  landlord  of 
the  hotel  atC V 

"  I  promise  to  do  it,"  said  the  nurse. 

His  thin  wan  fingers  tightened  for  a  moment  on 
the  pocket  book,  and  then  relaxed  their  hold. 

The  tramp  had  entered  upon  the  beaten  road 

we  must  all  travel.     He  was  dead  ! 

#  *  #  #  * 

The  pocket  book  contained  nothing  but  an  old 
letter,  and  this  was  the  contents : 

"  When  I  sought  you  it  was  to  kill  you.  I  meant  to  do  it  and 
then  die  myself.  But  when  I  saw  you  and  found  what  you  had 
become,  I  chose  a  better  revenge.  I  thank  God  the  guilt  of 
blood  is  not  on  my  soul,  as  it  is  on  yours.  George,  I  once 
loved  you — loved  you  blindly,  madly,  and  now  I  hate  you  with 
my  whole  heart — that  heart  which  you  have  crushed.  Through 
your  horrible  act  I  have  been  driven  a  wanderer  upon  the  face 
of  the  earth.  You  have  brought  upon  me  the  scorn  and  wrath 
of  my  kindred,  and  the  darkest  suspicion  of  the  world.  You 
have  made  me  dishonor  an  honest  name,  and  bring  a  father's 
gray  hairs  perhaps  in  sorrow  to  the  grave.  But  I  would  not  kill 
you.  I  thank  my  God  that  wild  temptation  has  passed.  You 
will  never  hear  of  me  again,  but  mark  me,  the  curse  of  a 
4 


48 


Suppressed  Sensations. 


wronged  woman  rests  upon  your  head.  God  is  just — the  eternal 
law  of  Him  will  be  satisfied.  I  am  your  accusing  angel,  and 
this  will  be  your  doom  :  You  will  sink  from  your  present 
fancied  prosperity  by  slow  but  sure  degrees,  until  you,  like  me, 
become  a  wretched  wanderer  on  the  earth.  Men  will  shun  you 
as  a  pestilence.  You  will  die  in  wretchedness  and  woe,  and  will 
be  buried  in  a  pauper's  grave.  Amen !  Amen  !  I  wish  it 
from  my  soul.  These  are  the  last  words  you  will  ever  hear 
from 

ELLEN." 


LEAF    III. 


THE  CARNIVAL'S  VICTIM. 


much 
romance, 
what  ag- 
ony and 
experi- 
ence   of 
life's  stern- 
er realities  are 
sometimes  con- 
cealed in  the  curt  and 
carelessly  written  par- 
agraphs   of    a    daily 
paper  !     If  we  could  read 
on  and    discover  the  mo- 
tives which  actuated,   the 
springs  which  moved,  the  human 
mind   to  do  the  deed  so  hastily 
and  briefly  recorded,  we  should  frequently  have 

(49) 


50  Suppressed  Sensations. 

the  particulars  of  a  life's  history  more  pregnant 
and  absorbing  than  are  contained  in  the  most 
sensational  fictions  of  a  Dumas,  a  Reade,  or  a 
Miss  Braddon. 

In  the  columns  of  a  morning  paper  of  May, 
1879,  the  reader  of  this  leaf  perhaps  perused  a 
paragraph  similar  to  the  following,  and  passed 
it  over  without  a  further  thought : 

"Last  evening,  about  half  past  6  o'clock,  the  corpse  of  a 
female,  young  and  elegantly  dressed,  was  discovered  washed 
ashore  at  th.fi  rear  of  the  Exposition  Building,  and  conveyed  to 
the  Morgue.  The  coroner  was  notified,  who  called  a  jury,  whose 
verdict  was,  that  the  unknown  deceased  came  by  her  death  from 
drowning,  but  whether  accidentally  or  suicidally  the  jury  had 
no  means  of  ascertaining.  There  were  no  marks  upon  the  linen, 
or  in  the  pockets  of  the  drowned  party,  likely  to  lead  to  her 
identification.  The  corpse  remains  at  the  Morgue  for  identifica- 
tion." 

That  was  all  the  papers  ever  contained  of  the 
case,  but  not  all  they  could  have  published  if 
remarkable  measures  had  not  been  taken  to 
suppress  the  facts,  which  I  shall  now  endeavor, 
very  briefly,  to  lay  before  the  reader. 

I  was  delegated  to  hunt  up  the  facts  in  the 
case,  and  proceeded  to  that  last  sad  caravansary 
for  the  floater,  the  "  found  dead,"  and  the  un- 
known suicide  who  takes  the  reins  of  Omnipotence 


The  Carnival's  Victim.  51 

in  his  own  hands,  careless  what  becomes  of  his 
remains. 

On  a  rude  tressel  table  lay  the  body  of  the 
drowned  woman,  while  on  a  line  above  hung  un- 
derwear of  fine  linen  profusely  ornamented  with 
Torchon  lace,  skirts  heavily  embroidered,  stock- 
ings of  silver  gray  with  a  delicate  carmine  thread 
of  silk  forming  foliage  upon  the  instep,  black 
satin  corsets,  a  handsome  walking  suit  of  bro- 
cade and  velvet,  while  upon  the  coarse  planks 
upon  which  she  lay  were  a  pair  of  Spanish  arch 
boots  and  a  hat,  which  had,  until  its  freshness 
was  destroyed  by  the  waters  of  the  lake,  been 
jaunty  with  its  broad  buckle  and  long  feather. 

A  long  white  sheet  concealed  the  body,  making 
that  unmistakable  line  of  curves  and  angles 
which  tells,  plainer  than  any  words,  the  sad  secret 
of  mortality  which  it  reveals  rather  than  hides. 
A  wealth  of  light  brown  hair  shot  with  gold 
hung  over  the  end  of  the  table  dank  and  heavy, 
yet,  in  its  broad  bands  of  light  and  shade  showing 
how  carefully  it  had  been  cared  for. 

Removing  the  covering  from  the  poor,  dead 
face,  I  looked  upon  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
creatures  it  had  ever  been  my  lot  to  see.  Death 
could  not,  in  so  short  a  time,  and  with  such  rude 


52  Suppressed  Sensations. 

notice,  mar  its  gorgeous  lineaments.  White  as 
chiseled  marble,  with  the  roseate  lips  slightly 
parted  and  revealing  even  rows  of  pearly  teeth  ; 
delicately  penciled  eyebrows  and  long  black 
lashes  lying  heavily  upon  the  cheek,  she  lay  as 
though  calmly  sleeping. 

The  corpse  had  not  been  long  enough  in  the 
water  to  become  discolored  or  disfigured,  and 
the  supple  form  and  rounded  limbs  were  models 
for  a  sculptor. 

I  started  back  in  horror,  for  I  knew  her  at  a 
glance.  It  was  the  worshiped  beauty  who  on 
the  principal  night  of  the  Author's  Carnival  had 
impersonated  the ! 

What  her  name  was,  from  whence  she  came,  or 
why  she  had  thus  invited  death,  I  did  not  know, 
but  of  one  thing  I  was  certain — that  it  was  the 
same  splendid  creature  who  with  merely  a  diaph- 
anous scarf  and  white  silk  fleshings  had  stood 
upon  the  pedestal  on  the  immense  stage  of  the 
Carnival  to  be  seen  and  admired  by  thousands. 
Then,  that  rounded  form  was  instinct  with  life ; 
now,  it  was  awaiting  its  decay.  Then,  the  ex- 
tended arm  and  taper  hand  trembled  with  ex- 
citement beneath  the  dove  that  perched  upon 
the  outstretched  finger ;  now,  they  were  pressed 


The  (Jar nival? s  Victim.  53 

close  to  the  clay- cold  figure,  never  to  be  lifted 
again. 

I  concealed  from  the  keeper  of  the  Morgue  the 
secret  I  felt  sure  I  possessed,  and  determined  at 
the  same  time  to  discover  to  which  of  our  wealthy 
families  she  belonged,  and  the  reasons  which 
impelled  her  to  take  her  life  and  future  in  her 
own  hands. 

Telling  the  man  that  I  would  look  in  again,  I 
left  the  place.  My  brain  was  in  a  whirl  of  ex- 
citement. A  thousand  schemes  for  the  elucida- 
tion of  the  mystery  flashed  through  my  mind. 
Nothing,  however,  could  be  done  that  night,  and 
I  went  about  my  assignments  in  the  most 
mechanical  way  and  without  the  slightest  interest 
in  the  petty  cases  of  drunk  and  disorderly  and 
other  items  of  ordinary  police  court  intelligence. 

When  my  final  copy  was  in,  I  left  the  office, 
and  dropping  into  the  usual  midnight  lunch  place 
in  Clark  street,  I  took  a  single  glass  of  beer  and 
a  sandwich,  and  then  repaired  to  my  bachelor 
room  ;  but  not  to  sleep.  Plan  after  plan  throbbed 
through  my  brain,  but  none  seemed  feasible.  If 
for  a  few  moments  I  dropped  into  semi-uncon- 
sciousness, the  cold,  white  face  of  the  corpse  ap- 
peared close  to  mine,  and  once,  when  positively 


54  Suppressed  Sensations. 

asleep,  I  awoke  with  a  start  as  I  saw  the  rigid 
form  in  all  its  horrible  nudity  arise  from  its  tressel 
table  and  assume  the  precise  attitude  of  the 
tableau  at  the  Exposition. 

I  could  bear  it  no  longer.  I  jumped  from  my 
couch,  and  putting  on  my  clothes,  lighted  my 
meerschaum  and  tried  to  read  "  Z/'  Assommoir" 
The  quiet  sleeper  at  the  Morgue  became  mingled 
with  the  quarreling  women  in  the  lavatory.  The 
demon  would  not  down,  and  it  was  a  relief  when 
the  rising  sun,  peering  in  at  the  window,  pro- 
claimed it  day. 

Making  a  hasty  toilet,  and  taking  a  still  hastier 
breakfast  at  a  restaurant,  I  again  bent  my  steps 
to  the  Morgue. 

What  was  my  astonishment  to  find  that  the 
corpse  had  been  taken  away  in  the  night,  and  the 
keeper  was  peculiarly  reticent  as  to  what  disposal 
had  been  made  of  it.  Neither  bribes,  flatteries 
nor  threats  would  loosen  his  tongue,  but  a  friendly 
policeman,  who  knew  me  as  a  reporter,  and  whose 
beat  took  him  by  the  building,  informed  me  that 
a  close  carriage  driven  by  a  man  in  quiet  livery, 
bottle-green,  as  near  as  he  could  judge  in  the 
lamplight,  had  stopped  at  the  Morgue  about  one 
o'  clock.  An  elderly  gentleman  with  a  long  white 


The  Carnival's  Victim.  55 

beard  and  close-cropped  hair  had  descended  and 
entered  the  place.  Returning  after  a  consider- 
able period,  he  had  spoken  some  words  in  a  low 
tone  to  the  coachman,  who  had  driven  rapidly 
away.  About  an  hour  afterwards  a  hearse  had 
drawn  up,  without  plumes  or  ornament  of  any 
kind.  A  plain  burial  case  had  been  carried  into 
the  Morgue  by  two  men,  who  immediately  re- 
turned, assisted  by  the  keeper  of  the  institution. 
The  coffin,  evidently  heavier,  was  replaced  in  the 
hearse,  and  it  was  driven  away.  This  was 
absolutely  all  that  I  could  learn. 

What  was  next  to  be  done  ?  I  inquired  of  the 
policeman  the  color  of  the  team,  ascertained  one 
horse  to  be  roan,  the  other  a  lighter  gray,  the 
carriage  dark  brown  or  chocolate,  not  certain 
which,  and,  with  these  particulars  as  my  principal 
clew,  I  determined  on  discovering  all  connected 
with  this  case  of  suicide,  for  accidental  drowning 
it  could  scarcely  possibly  be. 

My  first  endeavor  was  to  ascertain,  if  the 
slightest  chance  existed,  who  the  lady  was  whose 
partially  undraped  form  at  the  Author' s  Carnival 
had  caused  so  much  animadversion  and  elicited 
anything  but  complimentary  comments  from  the 
daily  press.  It  will  be  remembered  that  it  was 


I 


The  Carnival? s  Victim.  57 

stated  at  the  time,  that  certain  ladies  connected 
with  the  leading  families  of  Chicago  had  con- 
sented to  exhibit  their  personal  charms,  with  an 
abandonment  almost  equaling  that  of  Matt  Mor- 
gan's Art  Statuary,  or  the  "Model  Artists"  of 
Mabel  Santley,  on  condition  that  their  names 
were  not  known,  but  that  public  opinion  being 
strongly  against  the  initial  exhibition,  a  greater 
amount  of  drapery  had  been  used  in  the  later 
tableaux. 

Some  people  looked  upon  the  statement  as  a 
mere  trick  of  the  manager  to  insure  larger  re- 
ceipts, he  thinking  rightly  that  men  about  town 
would  bleed  more  readily  for  the  chance  of  seeing 
in  such  deshabille  ladies  of  fashion,  than  for 
gazing  upon  the  meretricious  charms  of  profes- 
sional models  and  shameless  creatures  who  would 
for  a  few  dollars  denude  themselves  of  drapery 
just  so  far  as  the  police  would  permit,  and  only 
stop  the  process  of  undressing  by  the  edict  of  the 
authorities.  Others  declared  that  the  manager  of 
the  Carnival  had  brought  with  him  these  women 
and  that  they  posed  as  a  mere  matter  of  business, 
which  would  have  destroyed  the  zest  of  hunters 
after  prurience  who  estimate  their  excitement  by 
rhe  difficulties  surrounding  its  attainment. 


58  Suppressed  Sensations. 

Which,  of  these  theories  was  true  I  had  no 
means  of  judging,  but  feeling  certain  that  the 

dead  body  in  the  Morgue  was  the  living of 

the  Carnival,  and  that  the  arrival  of  the  carriage 
and  the  carrying  away  of  the  corpse  pointed  to 
her  being  one  of  our  own  leading  citizens,  I  clung 
to  the  former,  correctly,  as  it  will  be  seen  in  the 
sequel. 

The  manager  I  could  not  interview,  as  he  had 
received  his  twenty-five  per  cent,  of  the  proceeds 
of  the  charity  entertainment,  and  was  off  to  reap 
fresh  harvests  in  other  fields.  Even  if  he  had 
been  on  the  spot,  I  could  perhaps  have  obtained 
nothing  from  him  which  would  have  assisted  my 
search. 

I  was  acquainted  with  many  of  the  gentlemen 
and  a  few  of  the  ladies  who  had  taken  part  in 
the  Carnival,  and  I  began  assiduously  and  indus- 
triously to  question  them.  Some  evidently  knew 
nothing,  and  others  would  say  nothing,  though 
from  one  lady  who  had  been  one  of  the  choicest 
spirits  in  the  affair  from  beginning  to  end,  I 
extracted  a  semi-admission  that  the  love  of  praise, 
and  the  consciousness  of  very  fine  physical  de- 
velopment, had  induced  several  ladies  to  offer 
themselves  as  classic  statues  so  long  as  their 


The  Carnivals  Victim.  59 

names  were  concealed,  and  the  whitening  process 
precluded  the  possibility  of  recognition  of  their 
facial  lines,  trusting,  I  suppose,  to  the  hope  that 
the  eagle  eye  of  love  might,  in  those  they  wished 
to  charm,  pierce  the  thin  disguise  of  a  coat  of 
artistic  calcimining. 

I  was  at  a  stand-still.  My  next  move  was  to 
scrutinize  all  the  fashionable  equipages  I  could 
see  on  the  principal  drives  and  thoroughfares, 
but  the  chocolate  carriage,  the  roan  and  gray, 
and  the  white  bearded  old  gentleman  with  the 
bottle-green  coachman,  eluded  my  search,  until, 
two  weeks  afterwards,  my  heart  came  to  a  sudden 
stop  and  my  brain  actually  throbbed  with  excite- 
ment, as  I  saw,  standing  opposite  the  ladies' 
entrance  of  the  Palmer  House,  the  carriage  and 
the  horses. 

I  sauntered  slowly  by.  A  man  with  a  tall  hat 
and  small  cockade,  a  bottle-green  overcoat  almost 
down  to  his  heels,  held  open  the  door,  as  from  a 
store  next  to  the  Palmer  House  entrance  emerged 
not  an  old  man,  but  a  tall  elderly  lady,  seemingly 
bowed  with  the  weight  of  years,  in  deep  mourn- 
ing, and  with  a  heavy  crape  veil  reaching  to  the 
knee  and  effectually  concealing  her  features, 
crossed  the  sidewalk  and  entered  the  vehicle. 


60  Suppressed  Sensations. 

The  coachman  mounted  the  box,  drove  slowly 
into  State  street  and  turning  north,  followed  by 
myself,  stopped  at  a  bookstore,  where  with  half 
a  dozen  splendidly  bound  books,  not  made  into 
a  parcel,  stood  waiting  an  elderly  gentleman 
with  a  long  white  beard  and  close-cropped  hair. 
Eureka !  I  almost  shouted  to  myself,  as  I  saw  him 
hand  in  the  books  and  then  get  into  the  carriage  ! 

Of  course  I  set  the  couple  down  at  once  as  the 
father  and  mother  of  the  victim.  But  it  is  not 
well  to  hurry  to  conclusions,  since  in  the  course 
of  this  narrative  the  reader  will  find  that  I  was 
mistaken. 

What  was  I  to  do?  was  the  next  question. 
Here  was  a  carriage  with  a  span  of  fast  horses. 
That  was  evident  from  the  blood  they  showed. 
I  was  on  foot,  and  no  carriage  nearer  than  Mon- 
roe street.  Luckily  at  this  moment  one  of 
Tilden's  men  whom  I  knew  came  along  with  an 
empty  vehicle.  I  hailed  him  and  he  drove  to  the 
curb-stone.  I  asked  him  if  he  knew  whose  team 
it  was  standing  by  the  door.  He  replied  in  the 
negative. 

"Then  wait  till  it  goes  away,  and  follow  it 
at  such  a  distance  as  to  escape  observation 
without  losing  sight  of  the  direction  it  takes," 


The  Carnival's  Victim.  61 

said  I,  and  springing  in  I  drew  up  the  blinds  and 
lighted  a  cigar,  certain  that  I  had  at  last  attained 
my  object. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  carriage  turned  south  and 
went  up  State  street  and  I  followed.  At  Twenty- 
second  street  we  turned  to  the  east  and  then 
south,  and  after  going  for  a  good  half  mile,  the 
carriage  stopped  at  a  palatial  residence  on  one  of 
the  most  fashionable  avenues. 

The  lady  and  gentleman  alighted  and  a  male 
help  out  of  livery  opened  the  door,  descended 
the  steps  and  taking  the  books  and  parcels  from 
the  carriage,  followed  his  master  and  mistress 
into  the  house,  the  coach  driving  up  the  alley  to 
the  mews  in  the  rear  of  the  building. 

I  had  bagged  the  game,  and  my  next  proceed- 
ing was  to  go  and  take  a  drink  at  a  handsome 
sample  room  on  the  corner  of  an  adjacent  cross- 
street. 

"  Who  lives  at  such  a  number  ? "  I  asked  of  the 
bar-keeper,  pointing  to  the  residence  as  I  spoke. 

He  gave  me  the  name  without  hesitation. 

<{  What  family  have  they  ?"  I  inquired. 

"None,"  he  replied. 

"What!  no  daughter?"  I  asked. 

"No."  said  he,  "but  they  had  a  very  beauti- 


Suppressed  Sensations. 


ful  young  lady  staying  with  them  during  the 
Carnival,  who  left  as  soon  as  it  was  over,  and  the 
blinds  have  been  down  and  the  house  has  looked 
as  dull  as  the  devil  ever  since."  , 

"  Do  you  know  where  she  was  from  ?  "  I  asked, 
in  the  most  off-hand  way. 

"Well,  so  far  as  I  know,"  the  bar-  tender 
replied,  "their  coachman  told  me  that  she  was 
from  Buffalo,  K  Y." 

Paying  for  my  drink  and  the  driver'  s  cigar,  I 
left  the  bar-room,  and  dismissing  my  carriage  at 
Wabash  avenue  I  took  a  street  car  and  hurried 
to  the  office.  I  dropped  into  the  editorial  room 
and  hunted  up  the  Buffalo  dailies.  A  short 
search  discovered  what  I  wanted,  or  at  least 
I  thought  so.  In  the  obituary  column  of  the 
leading  daily  I  found  a  notice  of  the  death  of 
Miss  Blanche  --  ,  age  nineteen,  suddenly,  in 
Chicago,  May  —  ,  1879.  I  waited  impatiently  for 
the  two  or  three  next  issues  of  the  paper,  and 
sure  enough  there  was  a  detailed  description  of 
the  arrival  of  the  body  and  its  interment,  so 
strictly  according  in  date  and  detail  as  to  leave 
no  doubt  at  all  on  my  mind  that  she  it  was  whose 
corpse  I  had  seen  in  the  Morgue. 

But  this  was  only  half  the  mystery.     How  was 


The  Carnival's  Victim.  63 

she  drowned?  Why  did  she  commit  suicide? 

Was  it  really  felo  de  se  or ?  I  could  carry 

self-questioning  no  further.  But  now  the  strang- 
est part  of  this  true  suppressed  sensation  comes 
—so  wonderful,  so  extravagantly  outre,  that  it  is 
indeed  "  too  strange  not  to  be  true/5  If  ever  fact 
was  stranger  than  fiction,  and  if  ever  the  iniqui- 
ties of  a  large  city  were  so  thoroughly  brought 
to  light  as  to  be  a  warning  for  all  time,  it  was  in 
the  denouement  of  this  history.  'Why  Fate 
should  have  made  me,  a  penniless  Bohemian 
reporter  for  a  daily  paper,  the  means  of  its  dis- 
covery, is  more  than  I  can  tell,  but  that  so  it  was, 
the  reader  will  see. 

I  had  not  been  at  the  office  more  than  half  an 
hour  when  I  was  told  by  the  city  editor  that  a 
dying  gambler  who  had  been  shot  by  a  compan- 
ion over  a  little  game  of  faro,  wished  to  see  me 
in  a  room  over  a  tiger-bucking  den  on  Clark 
street.  The  reader  will  remember  the  newspaper 
account  of  the  shooting  published  at  the  time, 
and  the  name  of  the  man  is  familiar  to  all  the 
sporting  fraternity. 

I  shouldered  my-  note  book  and  departed  for 
the  place,  vexed  at  the  thought  that  my  search 
after  the  Morgue  mystery  should  be  thus  delayed, 


64  Suppressed  Sensations. 

and  not  for  a  moment  supposing  that  I  was  going 
post  haste  towards  its  denouement. 

Does  the  outside  world  know  how  professional 
gamblers  in  Chicago  live?  None  of  that  feverish 
struggle  after  a  resting  place,  that  utter  disregard 
of  every  convenience  beyond  the  board  of  green 
cloth,  that  carelessness  of  everything  except  the 
excitement  of  the  gaming  table  which  we  read 
of  in  the  novels  of  the  day,  distinguishes  their 
career.  A  prince  of  the  blood  could  not  have 
occupied  a  more  luxurious  apartment  than  the 
one  in  which  I  found  the  wounded  card  sharper, 
lying  on  an  elegant  couch,  covered  with  a  spread 
of  pink  satin  and  propped  up  by  immaculate 
pillows  bordered  with  lace.  His  face  was  of  a 
greenish  pale  hue,  arid  from  the  pinched-in  nose, 
and  sunken  eye,  it  was  plain  to  see  that  his  end 
was  drawing  near. 

He  recognized  me  at  once,  and  languidly  rais- 
ing his  arm  pointed  to  a  chair.  I  drew  it  to  his 
bedside,  and  sitting  down  took  his  hand  in  mine. 
I  had  once  befriended  him  when  he  was  strug 
gling  to  regain  a  foothold  in  the  paths  of  recti- 
tude  and  virtue,  and  it  was  this  circumstance 
which  had  induced  him  to  send  for  me  to  receive 
his  dying  words. 


The  Carnivals  Victim.  65 

He,  by  a  sign,  dismissed  the  colored  man  whc 
was  attending  upon  him,  and  then  said :  ''Put 
your  hand  beneath  the  pillow  and  you  will 
find " 

"A  packet  of  letters,"  I  replied,  as  I  drew  forth 
a  small  bundle,  tied  round  with  a  pale  blue 
ribbon. 

"  I  could  not  die  in  peace  until  I  had  confessed 
to  some  one,"  he  commenced,  "and  in  all  this 
great  city  I  know  of  no  one  in  whom  I  can  place 
any  confidence  but  you." 

4 'Well,  Jack,"  I  interrupted,  uyou  are  safe 
in  my  hands  ;  but  how  came  you  in  this  predica- 
ment?" 

"  Of  that  anon,"  said  he;  "but  first  let  me 
ask  if  you  have  heard  anything  of  a  young 
woman' s  body  which  was  found  - 

"In  the  lake,"  I  interrupted,  "and  conveyed 
to  the  Morgue  ;  a  golden-haired,  fair,  black-eyed 


"Enough,  enough,  I  see  her  now.  She  is 
here;  she  is  there;  she  is  everywhere.  She  has 
not  been  absent  from  my  sight  for  a  moment 
since  she  was  picked  out  of  the  lake,"  he  replied, 
wildly.  "She  is  standing  by  your  side  now, 
looking  sadly  down  upon  her  murderer." 


66  Suppressed  Sensations. 

I  recoiled  in  horror,  saying,  "  You  don't  mean 
to  say,  Jack,  that  you  - 

4 '  Oh  no,  I  did  not  actually  throw  her  into  the 
lake,"  he  replied.  "Better  a  thousand  times 
that  I  had  done  so ;  but  it  was  my  damnable 
conduct  which  ruined  her,  which  drove  her  to 
despair,  which  compelled  her  to  seek  rest  in  the 
cold,  cruel  waters  of  Lake  Michigan." 

How  inscrutable  are  the  workings  of  myste- 
rious Fate !  Here,  where  I  least  expected  it,  I 
was  to  obtain  the  information  I  had  been  so 
diligently  but  uselessly  seeking. 

"  G-o  on,  Jack,  go  on,"  I  hurriedly  exclaimed. 

uLet  me  tell  my  story  my  own  way,"  he 
replied,  "  and  that  while  my  strength  remains, 
for  the  doctor  tells  me  I  have  not  twenty-four 
hours  to  live." 

"  Let  us  hope  he  is  mistaken,  and  now  I  will 
interrupt  you  no  more." 

"  I  do  not  want  to  live  longer  than  it  will  take 
to  post  you  on  the  items,  old  fellow,"  he  rejoined, 
a  sad  and  sickly  smile  stealing  over  his  atten- 
uated cheeks.  "Now  to  my  story.  I  and  a  pal 
had  been  down  to  Buffalo,  queering  the  greenies, 
and  had  made  a  big  haul.  We  were  both  in  high 
feather  and  well  dressed.  My  chum  went  on  to 


The  OarnivaVs  Victim.  67 

New  York,  I  took  the  train  for  Chicago.  On 
board  the  car,  traveling  alone,  was  the  loveliest 
creature  you  ever  set  your  eyes  upon.  I  took 
a  seat  opposite  to  hers,  and  without  obtruding 
myself  upon  her,  did  her  all  the  little  services  in 

my  power.     On  reaching the  train  stopped 

for  refreshments,  and  seeing  she  did  not  get  out, 
I  brought  a  cup  of  coffee  and  some  cakes  to  her 
car.  She  accepted  them  with  but  slight  demur, 
and  this  led  to  a  conversation  in  which  I  assumed 
the  character  of  a  well-known  millionaire  upon 
the  Board  of  Trade.  I  soon  found  that  I  had 
made  a  favorable  impression.  In  seemingly 
giving  her  my  confidence  I  secured  hers,  and  she 
told  me  that  she  was  going  to  spend  a  month 

with  her  uncle  on avenue,  whose  name  she 

mentioned,  and  that  she  should  remain  during 
the  Carnival. 

"  Before  we  reached  the  city  I  saw  that  I  had 

made  a  conquest,  and  with  devilish  ingenuity  I 

* 

concocted  a  specious  tale  to  account  for  my  not 
calling  upon  her  people,  and  made  arrangements 
for  meeting  her  down  town.  Insinuating  myself 
by  degrees  into  her  most  intimate  confidence,  I 
found  that  she  had  been  induced  by  some  of  her 
female  friends  who  knew  how  exquisite  was  her 


68  Suppressed  Sensations. 

form,  to  impersonate  the at  the  approach- 
ing Carnival,  confident  that  her  incognito  would 
be  strictly  kept,  and  that  it  would  be  impossible 
for  those  who  knew  her  best  to  penetrate  the  dis- 
guise of  a  whitened  face  and  Pompadour  wig. 

"  She  was  there.  She  appeared  upon  the  stage, 
and  if  before  her  exquisite  face  had  brought  the 
blood  bounding  to  my  brain,  how  much  more  did 
her  splendid  figure.  It  maddened  me  to  think 
that  in  a  few  short  days — weeks  at  the  most — 
I  should  lose  her  for  ever.  She  would  return  to 
her  friends  where  I  dared  not  follow.  I  had 
woven  around  me  such  a  network  of  lies  and 
deceit  that  I  lived  in  hourly  apprehension  of  dis- 
covery. I  did  not  know  but  that  even  in  that 
very  building  might  be  the  man  whose  name  I 
had  assumed,  and  from  a  chance  word  which 
Blanche  had  dropped  I  knew  that  her  uncle  and 
the  great  " grain  king"  were  intimately  acquaint- 
ed. Detection  stared  me  in  the  face.  It  was 
not  that  I  feared  anything  for  myself.  You 
know  that  I  never  quailed  before  the  face  of  man. 
But  to  lose  her — the  thought  was  madness. 

"  I  resolved  to  stake  all  upon  the  cast  of  one  die. 
A  gambler  by  instinct  and  education  I  never  yet 
refused  to  play  for  big  stakes,  and  were  I  in  rude 


The  Carnival's  Victim.  69 

health  to-morrow  I  would  throw  dice  for  my  life 
as  coolly  as  if  the  bet  were  but  a  five  dollar  bill 
or  a  bottle  of  champagne.  I  resolved  to  pour 
out  my  heart  to  her — to  tell  her  my  devotion,  and 
to  assure  her  of  my  life-long  love.  That  same 
evening  we  met.  From  her  sweet  lips  I  learned 
that  she  too  loved.  Alas  !  had  she  but  kept 
back  the  confession  she  might  have  been  alive 
and  even  happy  to-day. 

"It  had  been  my  intention  to  supplement  my 
declaration  of  love  by  a  full  avowal  of  my  real 
name,  my  occupation — I  was  going  to  say  my 
character.  I  intended  to  throw  myself  upon  her 
mercy,  to  beg  of  her  for  the  love  I  bore  to  her  to 
give  me  an  opportunity  to  show  by  my  amended 
life  and  altered  ways,  my  genuine  desire  to 
make  myself  worthy  of  her.  Can  you  believe  it  ? 
Yet  I  could  have  done  it  but  for  the  frankness 
with  which  she  confessed  to  me  amid  the  blushes 
which  rendered  her  far  more  beautiful  than  ever, 
that  I  had  won  her  heart. 

u  I  forgot  everything  but  that  she  was  mine,  and 
I  dared  not  then  risk  my  all  upon  a  chance.  The 
cool,  calculating  gambler  turned  coward  before 
this  woman— -this  embodiment  of  all  that  was 
good  and  pure  and  lovely. 


70 


Suppressed  Sensations. 


The  acquaintance  I  had 
begun  in  sport  had  ended  in 
bringing  me  captive  to  Cu- 
pid' s  yoke  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life. 

"A  wild  thought  darted  through  my  brain.  I 
would  wed  her  first,  and  then — my  confession. 
The  tie  of  love  bound  stronger  by  the  chain  of 
Hymen  she  could  not  then  give  me  up.  Woe 
is  me !  I  little  knew  her.  Born  and  reared  in 
sentiments  of  piety  and  virtue,  her  whole  moral 
nature  revolted  against  evil — but  I  anticipate. 

"By  prayers  and  promises,  by  specious  pleas 
and  vehement  protestations,  I  won  from  her  a 


The  OarnwaUs  Victim.  71 

reluctant  consent  to  an  immediate  and  secret 
union.  Two  causes  operated  in  my  favor.  Her 
large  fortune  depended  in  a  great  measure  upon 
the  caprice  of  a  wealthy  uncle,  and  she  feared 
that  did  he  but  know  of  her  marriage  contracted 
without  his  consent,  she  might  forever  alienate 
his  affection.  But  he  was  stern  and  hard,  and 
she  feared  him  almost  as  much  as  she  loved  him. 
The  other  favorable  argument  was  the  romantic 
glamour  which  to  the  female  mind  attaches  to 
the  idea  of  a  secret  marriage.  She  consented. 

' '  To  avoid  publicity  we  arranged  to  be  married 
in  the  neighboring  State  of  Wisconsin.  In  the 
beautiful  little  town  of  Kenosha,  just  beyond  the 
State  line,  we  found  a  complaisant  minister  of  the 
Methodist  church,  who,  in  consideration  of  a 
liberal  fee,  agreed  to  marry  us.  In  five  minutes 
we  were  one — man  and  wife  beyond  all  perad ven- 
ture. We  returned  to  Chicago  and  drove  at  once 
-  here.  Seated  by  her  side  in  this  very  room, 
as  the  shades  of  evening  fell,  I  broke  to  my  bride 
the  truth  which  you  and  ten  thousand  others 
know  so  well.  Instead  of  being  a  wealthy  mer- 
chant engaged  in  legitimate  business,  I  was  a 
gambler,  dependent  upon  faro  for  a  living. 

"She  gave  me  no  time  for  explanations,  as  I 


72  Suppressed  Sensations. 

said.  I  had  intended  to  give  up  my  old  associa- 
tions and  strive  to  live  honestly  for  her  sake.  But 
my  confession  seemed  to  freeze  the  blood  in  her 
reins.  The  beautiful  face  took  on  a  look  of  stony 
calmness,  strangely  at  variance  with  the  dan- 
gerous steel- like  glitter  of  the  glorious  eyes. 

"  'You  have  betrayed  me,'  she  cried.  "The 
ceremony  we  have  performed  gives  you  no  rights 
over  me.  I  leave  you  now  and  forever.  Follow 
me  not ;  your  touch  is  pollution  ;  your  presence 
is  an  insult.'  And  as  she  spoke,  she  rose  from 
her  seat,  and  in  an  instant  gained  the  door.  How 
it  happened  I  can  never  tell,  but  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life  I  had  left  the  key  of  the  dead-latch  on 
the  outside  of  the  door.  I  was  too  late  to  arrest 
her  progress,  and  as  the  door  slammed  behind 
her  I  was  left  a  prisoner  in  my  own  room,  from 
which  I  was  unable  to  effect  my  release  for  more 
than  an  hour.  When  at  last  my  frantic  knock- 
ings  brought  the  janitor  to  my  assistance,  I  was 

almost  raving. 

#  *  •*  #•  # 

"I  never  saw  her  again  alive.  The  next  day  I 
received,  at  the  address  I  had  given  her,  those  let- 
ters, and  learning  from  them  what  her  intention 
was,  I  immediately,  not  caring  for  the  conse- 


The  Carnival?  s  Victim.  73 

quences,  called  at  the  house  of  her  relatives  on  the 
avenue,  merely  to  find  them  in  the  wildest  de- 
spair at  her  absence,  she  never  having  been  seen 
since  the  night  of  the  Carnival. 

"Of  course  they  knew  nothing  of  me,  and  I 
turned  from  the  house,  determined  to  search  the 
city  over  until  I  should  discover  her  whereabouts. 
Oh,  God !  the  search  was  but  a  brief  one,  for  I 
heard  of  the  corpse  of  a  woman  having  been 
found  at  the  rear  of  the  Exposition  Building,  and 
with  the  raging  fires  of  hell  in  my  heart,  I  went 
to  the  Morgue.  I  saw  her  for  a  moment.  My  soul 
died  within  me.  I  would  have  given  myself  to 
the  nethermost  hell  for  ever  and  ever  to  have 
brought  her  back,  but  that  was  impossible,  and  I 
determined  to  follow  her.  My  cowardly  nature 
recoiled  at  suicide,  and  I  concocted  a  scheme  to 
attain  my  ends  without  actually  raising  my  own 
hand  against  my  life.  I  explained  to  my  brother 
gambler  a  plan  by  which  I  proposed  to  make  a 
big  haul.  It  was  to  culminate  by  a  quarrel  be- 
tween us,  during  which,  pistols  charged  blank 
were  to  be  exploded,  and  in  the  confusion  we 
were  to  make  off  with  the  swag.  I  loaded  the 
pistols,  one  with  powder  only,  the  other  with  sure 
death.  I  retained  the  harmless  one  and  gave  the 


74 


Suppressed  Sensations. 


loaded  one  to  my  companion.  The  plan  succeed- 
ed admirably.  At  the  appointed  time  I  gave  the 
signal,  the  quarrel  commenced.  I  fired  my  blank 
charge  at  my  chum,  he  returned  the  shot  which 
passed,  thank  God,  clean  through  my  lung." 

Of  course  I  have  not,  in  this  relation,  indicated 
the  breaks  and  pauses  occasioned  by  the  spasms, 
and  fits  of  coughing  up  from  time  to  time  of  the 
coagulated  blood  which  hindered  the  gambler's 
utterance. 

As  he  finished  his  narration  he  fell  back  upon 
the  pillows,  pointed  his  finger  in  the  direction  of 
the  door,  hoarsely  whispered  in  his  contracted 
throat,  "She  is  there  !  She  beckons  !  I  come ! 
I  come !"  and  with  a  smile  upon  his  lips,  expired. 


LEAF    IV. 


THE  STORY  OF  A  WAIF. 


NE    evening    in    the 
early  part  of  May, 
1876,  I  was  handed 
by  the  city  editor 
of  the  Chicago  daily 
paper  to  which  I  was 
then  attached,  a  brief 
note  couched  in  the  fol- 
lowing terms : 


"  If  the  would  like  to  know 

the   truth   about  the   baby  which 
died  yesterday    at    the   Protestant 
Orphan  Asylum,  let  a  reporter  call  on  Mrs. 
.  Garvey,  No.  — ,  De  Puyster  street." 

This    note   came    by  mail,    ad- 
dressed to  the  Editor  of  the , 

and  was  apparently  the   produc- 
tion of  an  imperfectly  educated  person,  although 


76  Suppressed  Sensations. 

the  spelling  was  correct  and  the  wording  direct 
and  to  the  point.  Newspaper  men  generally  look 
with  considerable  distrust/ upon  anonymous  com- 
munications, but  this  scarcely  came  under  that 
head.  Turning  to  the  Directory  I  found  that  a 
Mr.  Gfarvey  did  live  at  the  number  given,  and 
that  he  was  a  shoemaker  by  trade.  Referring  to 
the  paper  of  that  day,  I  found  a  brief  mention  of 
the  death  of  the  child,  and  a  statement  that  it 
was  the  one  which  had  been  discovered,  about 
eight  nights  before,  in  front  of  the  Orphan  Asy- 
lum. I  looked  up  the  paper  of  that  date  and 
found  the  following : 

"  ANOTHER  FOUNDLING. 

"Last  night  about  nine  o'clock  one  of  the  nurses  at  the  Prot- 
estant Orphan  Asylum  on  Michigan  avenue,  near  Twenty-third 
street,  while  locking  the  outer  door,  preparatory  to  retiring  for 
the  night,  heard  a  faint,  wailing  sound  proceeding  from  some 
point  on  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  building.  She  listened,  and  the 
cry  was  repeated — unmistakably,  this  time,  the  cry  of  a  child- 
It  was  as  Wordsworth  has  it  : 

"  'An  infant  crying  in  the  night, 
An  infant  crying  for  the  light, 
And  with  no  language  but  a  cry.' 

"She  called  for  assistance  and  a  light  being  obtained,  they 
found  under  a  tree  in  the  centre  of  the  lawn,  a  basket  containing 
a  beautiful  female  child,  apparently  about  six  months  old.  It  was 


The  Story  of  a  Waif.  77 

well  dressed,  its  clothing  being  of  fine  linen,  and  heavily  em- 
broidered, but  the  night  was  very  cold,  and  the  poor  child  was 
almost  chilled  to  death.  It  was  carefully  tended  by  the  matron 
and  her  assistants,  and  may  possibly  survive.  It  is  stated  by  per- 
sons connected  with  the  institution,  that  about  half-past  seven 
o'clock  a  carriage  drove  up  to  the  outer  gate.  It  stopped  but  for 
a  moment  and  then  passed  on  a  few  yards,  as  if  the  driver  had 
pulled  up  at  the  wrong  house.  One  of  the  nurses  fancied  that 
she  heard  the  outer  latch  click,  but  on  looking  out  saw  no  one, 
and  found  that  the  carriage  had  driven  off." 

It  appeared,  therefore,  that  in  spite  of  the  care 
which  had  been  bestowed  on  the  unfortunate 
baby,  it  had  succumbed  to  the  exposure  to  which 
it  had  been  subjected.  It  seemed  likely,  also, 
that  the  writer  of  the  letter  might  have  some  facts 
to  communicate  which  would  be  of  importance, 
and  accordingly  I  proceeded  to  the  address  given. 

Mr.  Garvey  turned"  out  to  be  a  very  decent- 
looking  Scotchman,  and  his  wife  a  motherly  wo- 
man of  the  same  nationality.  They  had  three 
children,  one  a  baby  about  six  months  old.  I 
stated  my  business  and  showed  the  note  which 
had  been  received  at  the  office.  Contrary  to 
my  expectation,  Mrs.  G.  at  once  avowed  its 
authorship.  "  We  thought,"  she  said,  "not 
to  have  said  anything  about  it,  but  we  thought 
when  the  poor  wee  thing  died,  that  it  was 

0 


78  Suppressed  Sensations. 

time  somebody  should  know  about  its  cruel 
mother — as  she  calls  herself,  though  it's  no  bairn 
of  hers." 

The  story  which  these  good  people  had  to  tell 
was  a  strange  and  peculiar  one,  and  yet  what  they 
knew  was  but  the  smallest  half  of  the  truth. 
They  explained  that  a  little  over  five  months  be- 
fore, a  lady  richly  dressed  in  black  and  wearing  a 
profusion  of  jewelry,  alighted  from  a  carriage  at 
their  door.  She  had  heard—  how,  they  did  not 
know — that  Mrs.  Garvey  was  willing  to  take  a 
child  to  nurse.  She  said  that  her  sister  had  a 
young  child  which  she  was  unable  to  nurse,  and 
oifered  what  was  to  the  Garvey  s  a  considerable 
sum  for  taking  care  of  the  child. 

As  a  guarantee  of  good  faith  she  paid  fifty 
dollars  in  advance,  and  agreed  that  Mrs.  G.  should 
have  the  care  of  the  infant  for  a  year.  Upon 
these  terms  they  agreed,  and  for  about  two 
months  all  went  well.  The  lady  came  at  fre- 
quent intervals,  always  bringing  sweetmeats  for 
the  Garvey  children,  and  occasionally  presents 
for  the  mother,  while  the  payments  were  regu- 
larly made.  But  curiously  enough  the  alleged 
mother  of  the  infant  did  not  appear  on  the  scene, 
nor  did  Mrs.  Mortimer,  for  that  was  the  name 


The  Story  of  a  Waif.  79 

the  lady  gave,  display  even  an  aunt's  affection 
for  the  little  one. 

About  the  middle  of  January  Mrs.  Mortimer 
made  to  the  Garveys  a  new  proposition.  She 
said  that  her  sister  had  to  go  to  California  to  join 
her  husband,  who  was  a  wealthy  merchant  in 
San  Francisco,  and  that  of  course  she  would  take 
the  child  along.  She  was  especially  anxious  to 
get  the  nurse  to  go  with  her,  and  promised  her  a 
large  remuneration.  But  Mrs.  G-arvey  could  not 
leave  her  own  family,  even  though  tempted  by 
liberal  offers  of  reward,  and  the  end  of  it  was, 
that  on  the  next  day  Mrs.  Mortimer  came  again 
in  the  carriage,  bringing  with  her  a  younger  lady, 
who  remained  in  the  vehicle,  and  who  was — the 
mother  of  the  infant.  So  at  least  said  the  reputed 
aunt.  But  the  Garveys  only  got  a  glimpse  of 
this  person,  who  was  closely  veiled,  and  who 
never  spoke,  even  when  the  child  was  handed 
into  the  carriage.  The  pair  drove  off,  and  the 
shoemaker  and  his  wife,  although  there  existed 
in  the  minds  of  both  an  undefined  idea  that  there 
was  something  peculiar  about  the  whole  matter, 
could  do  nothing  more  than  surmise.  They  felt 
the  existence  of  a  mystery,  but  had  no  idea  of 
the  truth. 


About  six  weeks 
later  they  were  again 
surprised  by  the  reap- 
pearance of  Mrs.  Mor- 
timer. She  had  in- 
formed them  that  it 
was  her  intention  to 
reside  for  a  year  at 
least  upon  the  Pacific 
Slope  with  her  sister 
and  that  lady's  hus- 
band. Yet  here  she  was  again,  more 
handsomely  dressed  than  ever,  with  a 
pair  of  magnificent  solitaire  diamond 

(80) 


The  Story  of  a  Waif.  81 

ear-rings  sparkling  in  the  light  as  she  moved, 
and  once  more  she  asked  Mrs.  Garvey  to  take 
charge  of  the  child. 

If  it  seemed  strange  before  that  the  child  of 
wealthy  parents  should  be  committed  so  freely 
to  the  care  of  an  utter  stranger,  to  be  brought  up 
with  the  children  of  a  mechanic,  it  seemed 
doubly  strange  that  it  should  now  be  returned 
to  its  foster  mother  in  this  summary  fashion. 

Mrs.  Garvey' s  womanly  curiosity  was  excited, 
and  she  asked  a  series  of  questions,  the  only 
effect  of  which  was  apparently  to  render  Mrs. 
Mortimer  rather  uncomfortable.  She  said  that 
her  sister  had  poor  health  in  California,  and  had 
been  ordered  by  the  physicians  to  travel  in 
Europe.  The  child  was  too  great  a  task  for  her, 
and  if  the  nurse  would  take  it  again  she  might 
bring  it  up  with  her  own  children.  She  should 
be  liberally  paid,  but  she  must  ask  no  more 
questions.  Some  day  the  infant  should  be  re- 
claimed, but  in  the  meantime  it  needed  more 
care  than  the  mother  could  give  it. 

After  considerable  demur  the  terms  were  agreed 
upon,  and  once  more  Mrs.  Garvey  took  charge 
of  the  little  one.  She  was  horrified  to  find  that 
during  its  short  absence  it  had  been  scandalously 


82  Suppressed  Sensations. 

neglected,  and  seemingly  not  more  than  half  fed. 
But  under  her  care,  and  that  of  a  doctor  whom 
she  called  in,  it  rapidly  began  to  recover  its 
strength,  and  was  soon  in  good  health. 

But  for  some  reason  or  other  Mrs.  Mortimer 
did  not  seem  either  so  attentive  or  so  responsive 
with  her  payments  as  upon  the  previous  occasion, 
and  after  three  weeks  had  passed  she  ceased  com- 
ing altogether  to  the  little  house  on  De  Puyster 
street.  Garvey  became  alarmed,  and  called  at 
the  address  which  she  gave  upon  her  first  visit. 
This  was  at  one  of  the  most  fashionable  boarding- 
houses  in  the  city,  situated  in  the  most  aristo- 
cratic quarter,  and  known  to  receive  only  the  very 
cream  of  society.  Here  he  learned  that  the  lady 
had  left  there  about  two  months  before,  saying 
that  she  was  going  to  Europe. 

Garvey  began  to  be  afraid  that  he  was  saddled 
with  one  more  incumbrance  than  he  had  bar- 
gained for,  but  being  a  persevering  fellow  he 
resolved  to  search  the  hotels  through,  and  to 
track  Mrs.  M.  if  it  were  possible. 

He  tried  them  all  and  without  success.  No 
such  person  boarded  at  any  of  the  more  promi- 
nent hotels.  But  chance  threw  in  his  way  what 
patient  search  might  never  have  revealed,  He 


The  Story  of  a  Waif.  83 

had  made  his  inquiry  of  the  clerk  at  the  - 
House,  received  the  usual  answer,  and  was  turn- 
ing away.  A  gentleman  standing  by  was  at- 
tracted by  the  earnestness  of  the  man  and  asked 
him,  half  in  joke,  what  the  lady  was  like.  Gar- 
vey  described  her,  and  the  gentleman,  turning  to 
the  clerk,  said:  "  By  George!  he  means  Mrs. 
Baxter."  True  enough,  Garvey  had  run  his 
game  to  earth.  Mrs.  Mortimer  was  none  other 
than  the  dashing  widow  who,  under  the  name 
of  Baxter,  had  recently  attracted  great  attention 
from  the  boarders  at  the  -  —  Hotel.  At  this 
time  she  was  the  recipient  of  assiduous  attentions 
from  one  of  the  most  prominent  of  Chicago's 
merchant  princes,  a  widower  of  about  forty- five 
years  of  age,  and  who  has  since  received  a  great 
deal  of  newspaper  notoriety  as  the  chief  engineer 
of  one  of  the  most  gigantic  " corners"  ever  run 
in  the  Chicago  wheat  market. 

Garvey  waited  until  the  lady  returned  to  the 
hotel  and  then  almost  forced  himself  into  her 
presence.  This  he  could  scarcely  have  done  but 
for  the  assistance  of  the  gentleman  to  whom  he 
had  spoken,  and  who  was  a  boarder  in  the  house. 
Beside  this  he  was  a  man-about-town  and  pretty 
well  posted  on  a  good  many  matters.  The  pecu- 


84  Suppressed  Sensations. 

liarities  of  the  case  struck  him  somewhat,  and  he 
took  an  opportunity  to  question  the  shoemaker 
about  it.  What  he  heard  only  made  him  desir- 
ous of  knowing  more,  and  it  was  from  him  that 
I  learned  the  inside  history  of  this  strange  case, 
as  will  be  hereafter  shown. 

But  to  resume  our  story.  The  lady  was  indig- 
nant at  what  she  was  pleased  to  consider  an 
intrusion  on  her  privacy,  and  angrily  told  Gar- 
vey  that  she  would  call  upon  him  the  next  day. 
She  did  so,  and  announced  that  she  would  re- 
move the  child.  This  promise  she  carried  out 
on  the  night  of  the  27th  of  April,  coming  in  a 
hired  carriage  and  accompanied  this  time  by  one 
of  the  most  prominent  physicians  of  the  South 
Division.  The  Garveys  were  told  that  the  child 
was  to  be  placed  in  the  care  of  an  asylum,  and 
although  they  protested  against  this,  they  were 
powerless  in  the  matter. 

Such  was  the  story  told  by  G-arvey  and  his 
wife,  and  of  this  I  received  the  fullest  corrobora- 
tion  from  other  quarters.  I  found  out  much 
more.  Acting  upon  a  clue  which  I  received  in  a 
very  peculiar  way,  I  found  the  coachman  who 
drove  Mrs.  Mortimer-Baxter  and  her  medical 
companion,  first  to  De  Puyster  street,  and  after- 


The  Story  of  a  Waif.  85 

wards  to  Michigan  avenue  and  Twenty-second 
street.  He  told  me  who  the  doctor  was,  and 
conclusively  proved  that  this  prominent  physi- 
cian, who  to-day  has  a  reputation  as  one  of  the 
most  skillful  in  Chicago,  in  the  treatment  of 
difficult  surgical  cases,  and  who  is  a  member  of 
half  a  dozen  learned  societies,  was  the  man  who 
placed  the  helpless  infant  on  the  lawn  of  the 
Asylum,  and  by  thus  exposing  it  to  the  inclem- 
ency of  the  weather  caused  its  death. 

There  remained  only  to  find  out  the  motive  for 
this  atrocious  piece  of  cruelty.  The  death  of 
the  child  might  not  have  been  desired,  but  the 
means  taken  to  dispose  of  it  were  of  such  a  char- 
acter that  the  woman  and  the  doctor  were  really 
the  instruments  of  its  death.  I  wrote  the  story 
up  as  I  got  it  from  the  Garveys,  being  amply 
satisfied  of  its  substantial  truth.  One  of  my 

associates  called  upon  Mrs.  Baxter,  at  the  

Hotel,  and  as  delicately  as  possible  asked  her 
what  she  knew  of  the  case.  She  was  indignant 
in  the  highest  degree,  and  threatened  the  direst 
vengeance  on  any  one  who  should  assail  her 
good  name  by  such  a  publication.  No  sooner 
had  he  left  than  she  summoned  her  French  maid, 
and  all  night  long  the  two  women  sat  up  packing. 


86  Suppressed  Sensations. 

Before  the  eight  o'clock  train  left  for  the  East, 
Mrs.  Baxter  sent  for  her  bill,  and  in  half  an  hour 
she  was  speeding  over  the  Lake  Shore  Railroad, 
tickets  for  New  York  in  her  pocket.  Three 
days  later,  I  was  informed  by  telegraph  from  our 
New  York  correspondent  that  she  had  sailed  for 
Europe  in  the  Germanica. 

The  reader  can  not  have  forgotten  the  thrill  of 
horror  which  ran  through  the  country  when  the 
news  came  of  the  terrible  catastrophe  in  the 
British  Channel,  when  the  Germanica  was  run 
down  by  a  heavily-laden  merchant  vessel,  and  all 
on  board,  with  the  exception  of  a  few  sailors, 
perished.  Among  those  who  found  a  watery 
grave  were  Mrs.  Mortimer  -  Baxter  and  her 
maid  —  the  same  woman  who  played  the  role 
of  the  mother  of  the  child  on  the  night  that 
it  was  first  taken  from  the  house  on  De  Puy- 
ster  street. 

#  *  *  *  * 

On  the  night  of  -  -  I  met  in  the  card-room 
of  one  of  Chicago' s  fashionable  clubs  the  gentle- 
man who  spoke  to  Garvey  on  the  night  of  his 

visit  to  the Hotel.     I  had  gone  to  the  club 

to  hunt  up  a  New  York  gentleman  visiting  in  the 
city,  and  there  met  Mr. .  "  Oh,  by  the 


88  Suppressed  Sensations. 

way,"  said  lie,  "have  you  ever  found  out  who 
Mrs.  Mortimer-Baxter  was?" 

"  No,"  I  replied,  "  have  you  \ " 

u  I  have,"  was  the  quiet  answer  ;  "  would  you 
like  to  hear  the  story  2  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  I  should  like  to  know  the 
motive  for  all  that  mystery." 

"Sit  down,  then,"  said-  — ,  " and  I'll  tell 
you  all  about  it."  And  with  this  preface  he 
told  me  a  story,  which  I  condense  as  follows : 

Mrs.  Mortimer  was  the  daughter  of  one  of  the 
wealthiest  of  the  Virginian  planter  aristocracy, 
who  in  ante-war  times  maintained  upon  his  es- 
tates in  the  beautiful  country  south  of  the  James 
river,  a  degree  of  state  and  a  free- handed  hos- 
pitality, which  was  considered  prodigal,  even  for 
that  time,  and  among  the  society  of  which  the 
family  were  hereditary  leaders.  The  war  broke 
out  when  Victorine  Markham  had  just  reached 
her  sixteenth  year.  Her  personal  charms  were 
great,  and  her  father's  wealth  and  social  position 
would  have  rendered  even  a  less  highly-gifted 
girl  a  great  prize  in  the  matrimonial  market. 
But  she  had  no  need  of  any  adventitious  aids, 
her  beauty  alone  sufficed  to  attract  to  her  side 
many  wooers,  and  the  lady  of  Kinsley  Hall  was 


The  Story  of  a  Waif.  89 


recognized  even  by  women  as  the  belle  of  that 
whole  section. 

Like  all  her  fair  sisters  in  the  South,  Miss 
Markham  was  carried  away  with  enthusiasm 
over  the  Secessionist  movement.  Her  father  was 
a  trusted  counsellor  of  the  late  chief  of  the 
Southern  Confederacy,  and  of  all  her  male  rela- 
tives, friends  and  admirers,  there  was  not  one  but 
felt  ardently  the  fighting  flame,  and  went  forth  to 
battle  for  their  State,  and  against  the  Northerner, 
whom  they  hated  so  fiercely.  In  those  times 
events  marched  rapidly,  and  conventional  delays 
were  swept  aside  with  a  rude  hand.  Thus  it 
came  that  when  Henry  Mortimer,  a  young  Caro- 
linian who  had  greatly  distinguished  himself  as 
a  cavalry  officer,  and  who  was  at  that  time  in 
high  command  at  Richmond,  proposed  marriage, 
the  consummation  of  his  hopes  was  not  long 
deferred. 

But  the  dream  of  happiness  was  short.  Mor- 
timer was  assigned  to  active  duties  in  the  West, 
and  fell  at  Chickamauga.  Thus  Yictorine 
found  herself  at  nineteen  the  widow  of  a  Major 
General,  and  yet  a  beggar.  Her  father' s  estates 
were  devastated  and  his  property  destroyed  by 
the  victorious  Union  soldiers,  and  the  proud  man, 


90  Suppressed  Sensations. 

who  had  borne  himself  so  high  in  his  prosperity, 
died  in  the  latter  part  of  1865,  the  victim  of  a 
broken  heart. 

Left  thus  alone,  the  young  widow,  still  charm- 
ing and  even  more  lovely  than  when  as  a  girl  she 
graced  her  father's  mansion,  was  compelled  to 
cast  about  for  a  means  of  livelihood.  She  was 
accomplished  as  well  as  beautiful,  but  unhappily 
her  early  training  had  ill-fitted  her  for  a  battle 
with  the  stern  realities  of  life.  She  was  fond  of 
power  and  pomp,  of  money  not  for  its  own  sake 
but  for  that  which  it  commanded,  and  she  was 
sadly  deficient  in  moral  principle. 

She  drifted,  after  one  or  two  adventures  which 
need  not  be  here  especially  mentioned,  to  Wash- 
ington, and  there  in  the  meretricious  society 
which  cursed  the  National  Capital,  she  reigned 
once  more  a  queen.  She  became  a  lobbyist,  and 
executed  alone  two  or  three  of  the  most  daring 
coups  made  at  that  time.  It  was  an  era  of  cor- 
ruption and  bribery,  when  tens  of  millions  of 
acres  of  the  public  domain  were  unblushingly 
voted  away  by"  the  sworn  guardians  of  the  people, 
and  when  honesty  hid  its  head,  and  the  specula- 
tor, the  legislator  and  the  lobbyist  formed  part- 
nerships by  the  score, 


The  Story  of  a  Waif,  91 

This  could  not  last,  and  few  years  had  passed 
before  Mrs.  Mortimer  found  that  her  occupation 
as  an  influencer  of  senile  Senators  and  corrupti- 
ble Congressmen  had  passed  away.  She  became 
an  adventuress,  pure  and  simple.  From  Sara- 
toga to  Newport,  Long  Branch  to  Cape  May, 
she  moved  with  the  seasons,  and  finally,  in 
the  spring  succeeding  the  great  fire,  she  removed 
to  the  West.  In  Chicago  she  met  for  the  first 
time  a  recently  elected  Senator  from  a  far 
Western  State,  one  for  whom  lavish  nature  has 
laid  bare  her  laboratory  of  glittering  ore,  and 
whose  wealth  in  mining  property  is  reckoned  by 
millions. 

It  is  said,  and  there  appears  to  be  considerable 
foundation  for  the  statement,  that,  during  her 
residence  in  Washington,  the  wily  lobbyist  was 
herself  deluded  and  wronged.  Almost  every 
swindler  finds  some  one  more  unscrupulous  and 
daring  than  himself,  and  it  was  so  in  this  wo- 
man's case.  An  Englishman  named  Baxter,  a 
worthless  scion  of  a  good  family,  and  with  a 
title  in  expectancy,  but  no  immediate  reliance 
other  than  cards  and  billiards,  proved  more 
than  a  match  even  for  the  skilled  female  diplo- 
matist. They  were  married,  it  is  said,  pri- 


92  Suppressed  Sensations. 

vately,  and  as  we  have  seen,  she  bore  his  name 
at  times. 

What  has  become  of  Baxter  is  not  known,  but 
it  seems  that  the  dashing  Southerner  considered 
herself  a  free  agent,  for  during  her  first  stay  in 
Chicago  it  was  openly  bruited  that  she  would 
marry  the  legislator  from  the  Pacific  Slope. 

Somehow  or  other  this  fell  through,  and  partly 
for  revenge — partly,  no  doubt,  with  a  view  to  the 
extortion  of  a  large  sum  of  money — she  procured 
the  child  whose  melancholy  _  fate  we  have  re- 
corded. Its  mother  was  induced  to  part  with  it 
by  liberal  promises  of  reward,  and  the  adven- 
turess, with  her  colleague  and  assistant,  the 
French  waiting-maid,  visited  California  as  nar- 
rated. 

Their  scheme  partly  succeeded  and  partly 
failed,  for  although  the  Senator,  with  a  whole- 
some fear  of  exposure,  bled  freely  of  his  wealth, 
he  was  shrewd  enough  to  couple  with  the  com- 
promise which  was  made,  a  written  stipulation 
that  he  should  be  freed  from  all  further  claims. 
Thus  the  unhappy  infant,  the  unconscious  in- 
strument of  a  wicked  woman,  became  an  incum- 
brance  to  her,  and  this  was  the  reason  why  she 
and  her  confederates  removed  it  from  the  care  of 


The  Story  of  a  Waif. 


93 


the  Garveys,  and  placed  it  at  the  door  of  the 
institution.  To  judge  her  charitably — for  she 
has  gone  now  where  He  who  knows  all  will  act 
as  Judge — we  may  hope  that  her  intent  was  not 
murder,  and  that  the  death  of  the  poor  child 
was  not  anticipated.  But  the  case  taken  in  all 
its  bearings,  was  one  of  the  strangest  I  ever  met, 
and  it  is  told  to-day  for  the  first  time. 


LEAF    V. 


THE  TELL-TALE  SKULL. 


VEN  in   this  anything 
but   romantic  age  the 
indefatigable   seeker 
after  sensational  items 
for    the    daily  papers 
occasionally     drops 
upon     something    so 
strange  that  the  wild- 
est  imagination    of  the 
-  professional   novelist   is 

i?^-~        commonplace    in    com- 

fss^^r:.- 

parison.  How  the  fol- 
lowing strange  story  came  to  the 
knowledge  of  the  writer  concerns  not  the 
reader.  Every  word  of  it  is  true,  and  though  the 
names  have  been  carefully  concealed  by  the  use 
of  fictitious  rather  than  real  ones,  yet  there  are 

«  (95) 


96  Suppressed  Sensations. 

many  residents  of  Chicago  who  will  recognize 
the  parties  concerned,  and  find  the  main  inci- 
dents familiar. 

There  was  nothing  strange  about  the  house,  No. 
-  Wabash  avenue.  It  was  one  of  those  compara- 
tively old-fashioned  red  brick  structures  with  a 
high  stoop,  of  which  whole  rows  vie  with  each 
other  in  the  exquisite  cleanness  of  the  steps,  the 
trim  order  of  the  small  garden,  and  the  luxuriance 
of  the  window  plants.  A  smarter  darkey  than  the 
one  who  here  answered  the  door  bell  could  not 
be  found  on  the  avenue,  a  more  faultless  turnout 
than  the  dark  green  and  brown  glass-fronted 
carriage,  with  its  pair  of  coal  black  horses,  never 
carried  a  prettier  couple  than  Hattie  and  Selina 
Smith,  the  daughters  of  Hiram  Smith,  the  retired 
broker  who  occupied  this  genteel  residence. 

Hiram  Smith  was  reputed  one  of  the  wealthiest 
citizens  of  Chicago,  and  although  never  seen 
more  on  'Change,  he  was  largely  interested  in 
stocks  of  various  kinds,  and  there  was  scarcely 
a  dividend  declared  on  any  of  the  safe  and  profit- 
able investments  connected  with  the  city,  or, 
indeed,  the  Northwest,  which  did  not  add  con- 
siderably to  his  bank  account. 

On  a  fine  morning  in  January,  some  eighteen 


The  Tell -Tale  Skull.  97 

months  before  this  fourth  of  July,  1879,  Smith  was 
seated  at  an  elegant  rosewood  escritoire  in  the 
luxurious  library,  which  fronted  on  the  avenue, 
overlooking  a  large  package  of  deeds,  bonds, 
mortgages,  and  other  securities,  which  for  some 
purpose  or  other  he  had  that  morning  removed 
from  the  Fidelity  vaults. 

"  There,"  said  he,  "  those  West  Side  street 
shares  will  realize  at  least  sixty  thousand,  those 
North  Side  shares  will  bring  me  half  as  much, 
the  Express  scrip  at  58J  will  net  close  upon  forty 
thousand,  my  Rock  Islands  are  good  for  twenty- 
five,  and  that  Lockport  property  has  sold  for 
half  cash  and  half  Toledo  and  Wabash,  the  title 
is  accepted,  no  suspicions  are  aroused,  and  the 
old  place  with  all  its  unpleasant  recollections  is 
off  my  hands.  The  great  secret  is  now  a  secret 
forever ;  dead  men  tell  no  tales.  I  have  only 
now  to  transfer  this  house  and  the  rest  of  my 
Chicago  real  estate,  and  the  vast  stake  I  played 
so  boldly  for  is  won.  Vivian  returns  this  week, 
the  marriage  must  not  be  delayed,  once  get  him 
safely  tied  to  Hattie,  and  Selina  the  wife  of  Clar- 
ges,  the  scheme  is  complete,  my  hands  are  unfet- 
tered, and  I  am  free.  All  good  Americans  when 
they  die  go  to  Paris,  but  I  prefer  seeing  the  me- 


98  Suppressed  Sensations. 

tropolis  of  luxury  in  the  flesh.  What  a  lucky 

thing  Vivian  did  not  return  until Here  his 

soliloquy  was  interrupted  by  a  rattling  voice  in 
the  hall— "  All  right,  Snowball,  I'll  introduce 
myself." 

We  can  not  be  as  nonchalant  about  so  impor- 
tant a  character  as  the  hero  of  our  little  life 
drama  was  about  himself,  and  must  try  to  de- 
scribe the  dashing  young  fellow,  who,  at  the 
conclusion  of  this  off-hand  speech  dashed  into 
the  presence  of  the  millionaire.  Vivian  Denston 
was  a  tall  young  man  of  some  five  and  twenty 
summers,  whose  profession  was  the  law,  but 
whose  business  was  pleasure.  His  face  was 
almost  a  regular  oval,  his  eye  a  piercing  hazel, 
his  hair  ebony  black,  and  his  lips  thin,  and 
when  the  face  was  in  repose  decidedly  cruel. 
He  was  thoroughly  chic  in  his  dress,  and  his 
boots,  gloves  and  hat  were  unmistakably  Pa- 
risian. 

As  he  entered,  Smith's  back  was  towards  the 
door,  but  Vivian  crossed  the  room  unhesitatingly 
and  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder. 

Smith  started,  exclaimed  "  Who's  there  ?  "  and 
turning,  continued,  "Talk  of  the  devil  and— 
Denston,  my  boy,  how  do  you  do  \ " 


The  Tell  -Tale  Skull. 


"Oh,"  replied  Denston,  "salubrious.  Euro- 
pean air  has  not  spoiled  my  complexion,  Paris 
girls  have  not  stolen  my  heart,  French  suppers 
have  not  ruined  my  health  nor  destroyed  my 
appetite  ;  but  Hiram,  my  Croesus,  what  are 
these  ?  '2  and  he  unceremoniously  seized  upon  a 
bundle  of  deeds  and  bonds. 

"  Those,"  answered  Smith,  "  those,  my  boy, 
are  the  blood  of  life,  the  stuff  we  Yankees  dig, 
delve,  slave,  travel,  - 

4  'And  murder  for,  eh  ?  "  interrupted  Vivian. 

"  What's  that  you  say  ?  Oh,  ah,  1  see,  a  joke, 
eh?  Devilish  good,  upon  my  word.  -But  have 
you  seen  Hattie?" 

"Why,"  replied  Denston,  "that  is  just  the 
busioess  I  want  to  talk  about  to  you.  You  see 
I'm-  -" 

"  In  a  deuce  of  a  hurry  to  make  her  Mrs. 
Vivian  Denston  ;  of  course  it'  s  quite  natural  in 
you  young  fellows." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  young  man,  "  I  dare  say  it  is; 
but  you  see,  Smith,  that  don't  happen  to  be  my 
case.  I've  altered  my  opinion." 

"What?  altered  your  opinion?  Did  you  not 
propose,  were  you  not  accepted  ?  I  gave  you  my 
consent,  and  -  '  ' 


100  Suppressed  Sensations. 

"  Ha!  ha  !  "  laughed  Vivian.  "  All  very  right, 
strictly  O  K,  most  paternal  papa,  but  you  see 
since  I've  been  to  Paris  and  seen  more  of  the  bon 
ton,  as  the  parlez  vous  call  it,  I've  changed  my 
mind  and  must  decline  — 

"  An  alliance  with  my  family,"  roared  Hiram 
Smith. 

u  Soft  and  easy,  soft  and  easy.  Don't  let  your 
dander  rise.  That's  not  exactly  the  case,  but 
then,  you  see,  Hattie  is  one  of  those  divine  little 
domestic  creatures,  decidedly  without  dash. 
Now  I  find  that  dash  is  the  thing,  and  I  propose 
asking  you  for  the  hand  of  her  sister." 

At  this  audacious  proposal,  Smith  lost  all 
control  of  his  temper,  and  he  shrieked  rather 
than  replied,  "  Her  sister  !  Sir,  is  my  family  to 
be  at  your  beck  and  call  ?  Am  I  to  submit  to  the 
affections  of  my  child  being  thus  trifled  with  ? 
You  know  how  she  loves  you,  how  popular 
report  has  already  mated  you,  and  how  her  fair 
name  will  be  compromised.  No,  sir,  it  can  not 
be,  neither  would  Selina  submit  to  it,  and  I,  sir, 
as  the  father  of  a  family  - 

"I  know  all  that,  my  friend,  have  read  it  in 
the  romances  of  the  period,  but  -  Here 

Vivian  spoke  very  slowly  and  with  a  tantalizing 


The  Tell -Tale  Skull.  101 

pause  between  every  word,  at  the  same  time  dis- 
engaging a  somewhat  bulky  and  peculiar  looking 
parcel  tied  up  in  a  silk  handkerchief,  from  his 
coat-tail  pocket;  "  we  will  change  the  subject. 
I  have  a  curiosity  here."  He  deliberately  untied 
the  bandanna,  and  produced  a  bleached  and  grin- 
ning skull. 

"  Good  Heavens ! "  cried  Smith,  "  Denston,  are 
you  mad  ?  What  on  earth  do  you  mean  \ " 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Vivian,  "not  mad,  merely  a 
modern  Hamlet,  with  all  his  philosophy,  but 
none  of  his  mania.  I  only  wished  to  call  your 
attention  to  a  peculiarity  about  this  cranium. 
Do  you  see  it  has  a  perforation  at  the  back, 
which,  although  evidently  arising  from  collision 
with  a  pistol  ball,  could  hardly  have  been  received 
in  this  location  during  the  exchange  of  civilities 
in  an  honorable  duel." 

During  this  speech,  Smith,  evidently  overcome 
by  some  internal  struggle,  sank  into  his  chair  and 
stared  with  blank  astonishment  at  the  speaker. 
The  effort  to  control  his  feelings  was  useless,  and 
he  exclaimed  in  an  agony  of  terror,  "Help! 
help  !  air!  I  choke  !  " 

With  the  utmost  coolness  Denston  continued. 
"Strange  effect  it  seems  to  have  on  the  old 


102  Suppressed  Sensations. 

gentleman."  He  placed  the  skull  upon  the 
table,  and  unbuttoned  the  collar  of  his  com- 
panion, whose  staring  eyes  and  engorged  tem- 
ples seemed  to  threaten  apoplexy.  By  vig- 
orous fanning,  however,  on  the  part  of  Vivian, 
and  a  violent  mental  effort  on  his  own,  Smith 
overcame  his  silent  terror,  and  exclaimed,  "A 
pistol  ball,  ball,  ball !  Take  it  away  !  take  it 
away  !" 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  Smith?"  coolly 
asked  Denston.  "  Are  you  personally  interested 
in  that  specimen  of  defunct  humanity  ? " 

Smith,  recovering  his  presence  of  mind,  ex- 
claimed, "  Ha  !  ha !  a  joke,  a  devilish  good  joke. 
Interested  ?  Not  I,  but  my  nerves  are  none  of 
the  strongest,  and  having  that  nasty  thing 
popped  under  my  nose " 

"Do  you  know  where  that  skull  was  found  ? " 
asked  Vivian. 

"  How  should  I  ? "  queried  Smith. 

"  Well,  it  was  accidentally  dug  up  at  Lock- 
port.  I  can  tell  you  the  exact  spot." 

"No,  thank  you,  my  boy,  I  take  no  interest 
in  antiquarian  researches." 

"Nor  the  clearing  up  of  long-hid  mysteries, 
eh«" 


The  Tell -Tale  Skull.  103 

"  Say  no  more  about  it,  Denston.  What  can 
I  do  for  you,  my  dear  friend  ? " 

"Well,  my  dear  prospective  father-in-law,  I 
wish  you  to  use  your  influence  with  Selina.  I 
must  and  will,  mark  me,  will  marry  Selina,  and 
then,  you  gee,  I  shall  take  no  further  interest  in 
antiquarian  researches,  and  get  rid  of  my  speci- 
mens." 

To  this  modest  request,  Smith,  now  completely 
humbled,  replied,  "Well,  of  course,  as  long  as 
you  honor  my  family  with  an  alliance,  it  matters 
but  little  which  daughter  you  take.  But  no 
more  of  it  at  present,  I  hear  her  footstep  in  the 
hall." 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened  and  a  tall, 
elegantly  formed,  dashing  blonde,  whose  dusky 
golden  ringlets  hung  like  a  sheaf  of  sunbeams 
round  a  face  fair  as  the  bosom  of  the  sea-born 
deity,  came  tripping  into  the  room,  saying  as  she 
entered,  "  Oh,  papa,  you  promised-  '  then 
seeing  Vivian  she  added,  "I  beg  your  pardon, 
sir,  I  fancied  pa  was  alone." 

"  Come  in,  child,"  replied  her  father.  "This 
is  an  old  acquaintance,  fresh  from  Paris, 
with  a  complete  knowledge  of  bonnets  and 
bijouterie." 


104  Suppressed  Sensations. 

"Miss  Smith,"  said  Vivian,  bowing  politely, 
4 'permit  me  to  congratulate  you  upon  your 
appearance  ;  you  are  as  charming  as  ever." 

To  this  flattering  speech  Selina  replied,  haughti- 
ly, "Mr.  Denston  will  reserve  his  French  com- 
pliments for  more  welcome  ears." 

"For  shame  !  Selina,"  almost  angrily  retorted 
her  father.  "  Have  you  no  word  of  welcome  for 
an  old  friend  ?  You  who  were  the  subject  of  our 
conversation  as  you  came  in  3 " 

Selina  asked,  "  To  what  cause  do  I  owe  the 
honor  of  Mr.  Denston' s  remarks  ? " 

Not  knowing  how  far  the  sudden  interest  taken 
in  his  affairs  might  lead  Mr.  Smith  to  go,  and 
recognizing  discretion  as  the  better  part  of  valor, 
.Mr.  Denston  checked  him  as  he  was  about  to 
reply,  and  said,  ' '  Miss  Smith,  it  will  probably  be 
more  fitting  that  I  should  retire  and  leave  a  mat- 
ter of  some  delicacy  in  the  hands  of  your 
respected  papa.  So  au  revoir—and.  Mr.  Smith 
I  will  see  you  again  about — about  those  anti- 
quarian researches  I  was  speaking  of." 

Taking  his  hat  he  then  retired,  saying  to  him- 
self as  he  crossed  the  hall,  "And  now,  John 
Fleming,  I  think  I  have  checkmated  you." 

The  gentleman  thus  cavalierly  alluded  to  was 


106  Suppressed  Sensations. 

a  highly  prosperous  merchant,  whose  business 
was  one  of  the  most  lucrative  in  the  city,  and 
between  whom  and  Vivian  Denston  there  was 
a  bitter  enmity,  and  who,  it  was  whispered 
among  fashionable  society,  was  the  accepted 
lover  of  Miss  Selina  Smith. 

"No  sooner  had  the  gallant  gay  Lothario 
quitted  the  library  than  Selina  asked  her  father 
the  meaning  of  this  mystery,  this  matter  of  some 
delicacy.  All  the  satisfaction  she  obtained  was 
in  the  form  of  a  question.  "Do  you  love  your 
father?" 

"Has  he  ever  had  reason  to  doubt  my  affec- 
tion ?"  was  the  response. 

Her  father  replied,  "Words  of  mere  compli- 
ment mean  but  little,  except  accompanied  by 
obedience." 

"  Did  I  ever  disobey  you,  papa  ? " 

"No,  child,  but  you  must  prepare  to  accede 
to  a  very  abrupt  proposition." 

"And  that  is 3" 

"To  marry  Yivian  Denston." 

"Never!  never!"  exclaimed  the  astonished 
and  frightened  girl. 

"Selina,"  replied  her  father,  I  tell  you  he 
must  be  your  husband,  or " 


The  Tell -Tale  Skull.  107 

"  Father,"  almost  shrieked  his  terrified  daugh- 
ter, uin  all  that  doth  become  a  dutiful  child,  I 
have  ever  been  obedient,  but  to  prove  false  to  the 
man  I  love — and  I  do  love,  papa — to  be  the  slave 
of  a  man' s  caprice,  the  rival  of  a  sister,  and  the 
bride  of  one  whom  I  fear  and  loathe,  would  as 
little  become  me  to  endure  as  it  seems  to  me 
unfatherly  in  you  to  require.  Who  is  this  grand 
Turk  who  has  liberty  to  enter  our  house  and  fling 
his  handkerchief  first  at  one  and  then  at  the 
other  according  to  the  idle  fancy  of  the  hour  ?" 

Angry  and  ashamed  of  himself,  but  borne 
down  by  what  he  knew  to  be  a  fatal  necessity, 
he  sternly  replied,  u  You  shall  know  what  it  is 
to  thwart  a  father's  will.  Prepare  this  night  to 
receive  Vivian  Denston  as  your  accepted  lover, 
or  I  will  show  you  that  such  punishment  awaits 
a  disobedient  child  as  she  little  dreams  of." 

"  Oh,  father  1"  exclaimed  the  poor  girl,  "by 
my  sainted  mother's  memory,  by  your  recollec- 
tions of  your  own  wedded  love,  you  can  not,  you 
will  not " 

"No  more,"  he  cried,  interrupting  her.  "It 
must  be  as  I  say.  You  marry  Denston,  or  a 
dying  father's  curse  will  drag  you  to  perdition. 
Love,  bah ! — choice,  nonsense  ! — a  sick  girl's 


108  Suppressed  Sensations. 

dream.  Marriage  now-a-days  is  but  a  conven- 
ience; fortune,  a  home,  a  position  in  society — all 
these  will  be  yours.  I  can  lavish  wealth  upon 
you,  and  Denston  is  rich.  I'll  hold  no  parley 
with  a  disobedient  daughter.  Make  up  your 
mind  to  marry  him.  Be  brave  and  you  can 
command  happiness.  I  will  see  him  again  this 
afternoon — shall  tell  him  to  call  this  evening. 
Receive  him  as  your  lover,  accept  him  as  your 
husband,  or  dread  the  consequences  of  your 
folly." 

Saying  this,  and  spurning  her  from  him,  he 
abruptly  left  the  room,  leaving  her  upon  the 
floor  where  she  had  flung  herself  in  a  last  appeal 
to  her  father's  generosity.  Rising  from  her  pros- 
trate position,  and  with  an  effort  nerving  herself 
for  the  struggle  she  felt  must  come,  she  ex- 
claimed, "Marry  Denston! — a  father's  curse! 
Oh,  no !  he  could  not  curse  his  child.  But  he  is  a 
harsh  man  and  will  not  be  thwarted.  Meet 
Vivian  to-night — to-night !  No  !  sooner  shall  the 
calm  bosom  of  the  lake  receive  one  more  victim, 
sooner  shall  death  bear  me  to  my  mother' s  arms, 
than  I  become  the  bride  of  this  man,  this  mon- 
ster without  a  heart." 

Her  mind  was  made  up,  her  resolve  taken,  and 


The  Tell -Tale  Skull.  109 

quietly  she  went  about  making  her  preparations. 
Liberally  supplied  with  pocket  money,  she  was 
not  without  funds,  and  packing  up  a  few  neces- 
sary articles  in  so  small  a  compass  as  to  avoid 
suspicion,  she  watched  for  a  favorable  oppor- 
tunity, and  when  her  father  went  down  town  to 
report  to  Denston  the  result  of  his  negotiations, 
she  silently  quitted  the  house.  Great  was  the 
astonishment  of  the  household  at  the  evening 
meal  when  Selina  was  found  missing.  Of  course 
no  one  except  her  father  could  imagine  any 
cause  for  her  absence,  and  her  sister,  until  late 
at  night,  imagined  that  she  had  been  detained 
at  the  house  of  some  friend.  Hour  after  hour 
passed  away. 

The  expectant  lover  came  according  to  the 
appointment  made  with  her  father,  attired  in  all 
the  glory  of  full  evening  costume,  and  it  may 
be  imagined  how  constrained  and  awkward  was 
his  interview  with  the  sister,  whose  love  he  had 
sought  and  whose  affection  he  now  scorned. 
Hattie,  however,  was  so  troubled  at  the  unac- 
countable disappearance  of  her  sister  that  she 
suspected  no  wrong,  and  when  all  hopes  of  her 
return  had  passed  away,  she  had  the  horses  put 
in  the  carriage,  and  made  a  round  of  inquiry 


110  Suppressed  Sensations. 

among  her  aristocratic  friends  of  the  South  and 
North  Sides.  The  father  and  Vivian  Denston, 
both  feeling  that  something  dreadful  had  hap- 
pened, went  to  the  bureau  of  a  detective  force 
and  instituted  a  rigid  search.  The  police  were 
notified,  the  most  indefatigable  agents  were  en- 
listed in  the  search,  but  day  after  day  passed, 

and  nothing  was  heard  of  the  missing  Selina. 
*  *  *  *  *  * 

In  a  gloomy  old  house,  fronting  on  a  square, 
which,  once  trim  and  highly  cultivated,  looked 
the  more  untidy  and  dilapidated  from  the  neglect 
into  which  it  had  fallen,  in  a  portion  of  the  city 
of  New  York  from  whence  Fashion  had  departed 
up  town  wards,  the  rooms  were  let  out  at  reason- 
able rates  to  the  artistic  and  literary  Bohemians 
who  congregate  in  the  great  metropolis  of  the 
Union. 

Here  the  student  struggling  against  poverty 
and  want  of  patronage  dreamed  of  exhibitions 
and  commissions,  and  drew  from  the  models  who 
for  a  dollar  or  two  permitted  their  unadorned 
charms  to  be  portrayed  by  the  artist.  Here  the 
industrious  essayist,  the  plodding  itemizer  and 
the  writers  of  precarious  editorials  or  occasional 
sensations,  burnt  the  midnight  oil,  and  too  fre- 


The  Tell -Tale  Skull.  Ill 

quently  made  night  hideous  by  the  chanting  of 
snatches  of  slang  songs  picked  up  at  the  gardens 
or  music  halls.  It  was  a  strange  but  kindly 
commonwealth,  and  a  pipe  full  of  tobacco,  a 
crayon  or  a  color  was  as  readily  given,  as  freely 
asked  for,  among  the  denizens  of  this  roomy  old 
dwelling. 

There  was  one  room,  however,  which  bore  a 
striking  difference  from  the  rest,  and  it  was  long 
before  any  of  the  inmates  of  the  house  penetrat- 
ed beyond  the  jealously  locked  door.  Evidently 
its  occupant  was  a  hard  working  student,  who 
merely  left  his  room  when  he  had  work 
completed,  and  then,  merely  long  enough  to 
go  down  to  Sarony's,  or  some  other  photog- 
rapher's, with  the  contents  of  a  red  morocco 
portfolio,  neatly  tied,  and  containing  exquis- 
itely finished  portraits  in  water  color.  It  was 
in  this  way  the  young  man  made  his  living, 
but  his  work  was  so  perfect,  his  taste  so  refined, 
that  he  readily  obtained  all,  and  more  than 
all  he  could  do. 

He  was  fair  haired  and  extremely  handsome, 

and  always  dressed  in  a  frock  coat  of  splendid 

fit ;  the  balance  of  his  costume  far  above  the 

usual  style  of  garb  worn  by  struggling  artists, 

8 


112  Suppressed  Sensations. 

both  as  to  quality  and  style.  From  his  beauty 
and  his  reticence  he  was  christened  by  his  house- 
mates the  "  dumb  Apollo."  He  took  no  part  in 
the  bacchanalian  revels  which  too  often  character- 
ized the  house  in  which  he  lived,  and  beyond  a 
walk  in  the  square,  or  a  ride  up  to  the  park  after 
his  day's  work  was  done,  he  seemed  to  care  for 
no  amusement. 

Months  passed  thus,  but  by  degrees  nodding 
acquaintanceships  with  the  better  class  of  room- 
ers were  formed,  and  one  or  two  of  the  more 
talented  young  artists  who  lived  lives  of  indus- 
trious seclusion  were  admitted  into  his  rooms, 
one  of  which  was  used  as  a  studio,  and  the 
other  furnished  in  the  most  fastidious  taste 
as  a  bed-room.  It  was  evident  that  the  mys- 
terious student  did  not  confine  himself  alto- 
gether to  working  for  the  photographers,  for 
many  landscape  sketches  and  beautifully  fin- 
ished miniature  pictures  adorned  his  walls. 
Very  frequently  would  his  visitors  ask  him  to 
accompany  them  to  the  theatre  or  concert  rooms, 
but  these  invitations  were  kindly  though  firmly 
refused. 

On  one  occasion,  however,  New  York  rung  with 
the  praises  of  a  lovely  young  girl  about  whose 


The  Tell -Tale  Skull.  113 

life  and  origin  there  hung  a  strange  mystery,  and 
who  was  singing  at  a  decent  though  not  very  fash- 
ionable music  hall,  in  one  of  the  most  retired 
streets  of  the  metropolis.  In  this  young  girl  the 
artist  seemed  to  take  a  strange  interest,  and  when 
all  curiosity  was  piqued  by  tr  3  impossibity  of 
learning  her  story,  he  felt  an  irresistible  desire  to 
see  and  hear  the  beautiful  creature  of  whom  he 
heard  so  much  from  his  companions.  Pressed 
to  go,  he  at  length  consented,  and  in  company 
with  a  student  whose  tastes  and  habits  were 
almost  as  refined  as  his  own,  he,  for  the  first  and 
only  time  in  his  life  ventured  over  the  threshold 
of  a  New  York  Music  Hall. 

The  room  was  crowded.  The  galleries  set  apart 
for  those  who  preferred  lighter  viands  than  the 
beer  and  liquor  served  out  below,  were  adorned 
with  heavy  evergreens  in  large  tubs,  between 
which  were  placed  tables  for  the  refreshments 
which  might  be  required.  At  one  of  these  our 
two  artists  were  seated.  But  little  attention  was 
paid  to  the  first  two  or  three  numbers,  all  anx- 
iously waiting  for  the  appearance  of  the  myste- 
rious lady  whose  original  songs,  pretty  voice 
and  still  prettier  figure,  had  created  so  great 
a  furore. 


114  Suppressed  Sensations. 

At  length,  the  orchestra  commenced  one  of  her 
favorite  airs,  and  she  bounded  like  a  sylph  before 
the  curtain.  She  was  a  brunette  of  glorious 
beauty,  young  and  lithe  as  a  wand,  dressed  in  a 
fancy  Spanish  costume,  which  set  off  the  splen- 
did contour  of  her  bust  and  form  to  perfection. 
She  sang  with  a  pathos  and  a  power  which  elec- 
trified the  audience.  Our  artist,  who  had  during 
the  previous  songs  kept  retired  behind  one  of  the 
evergreens,  was  enchanted,  and  forgetful  of  every- 
thing but  the  music  he  heard,  and  the  gorgeous 
creature  who  was  upon  the  stage,  leaned  forward 
over  the  slight  bannister  which  surrounded  the 
gallery. 

His  hat  was  off,  and  the  crisp  yellow  curls 
which  surrounded  his  head  like  a  glory,  added 
an  almost  supernatural  beauty  to  his  fair  face. 
Many  eyes  were  turned  upwards  to  gaze  upon  a 
young  man  so  singularly  handsome,  when  all  at 
once  a  dark,  elegant  gentleman  rose  from  the 
body  of  the  hall  and  made  rapid  strides  for  the 
gallery.  Pushing  his  way  through  the  crowd 
of  waiters  at  the  entrance,  and  going  down 
the  aisle  between  the  tables,  he  approached 
the  one  at  which  our  artist  friends  were 
seated. 


The  Tell -Tale  Skull.  115 

The  unknown  turned  his  head,  recognized  in  a 
moment  the  party  who  was  hurrying  towards 
them,  and  shouting,  "  It  is  John  Fleming, "  im- 
mediately swooned  away.  It  was  no  longer  a 
secret ;  the  golden-haired  artist  was  a  woman,  and 
in  another  instant  was  locked  in  the  embrace  of 
the  gentleman  who  had  hurried  up  on  recogniz- 
ing her.  Of  course  there  was  considerable  ex- 
citement, but,  under  the  powerful  protection  of 
her  lover,  Selina  Smith  in  male  attire  was  con- 
veyed from  the  scene. 

Taking  her  to  one  of  the  leading  hotels  he 
placed  her  in  the  care  of  ari  estimable  and 
discreet  lady,  an  acquaintance  of  his  who  was 
boarding  there,  and,  after  confiding  as  much 
of  her  story  to  his  friend  as  was  absolutely 
necessary,  he  retired,  and  waited  until  she 
could  receive  him  in  more  befitting  if  not 
becoming  attire.  It  was  not  long  before  he 
was  summoned  to  her  presence,  and  found 
her  seated  on  a  couch  in  an  elegant  morning 
wrapper  which  had  been  provided  by  his 
friend. 

"  Quite  a  metamorphosis  you  see,"  said  the 
lady,  as  she  entered  ;  and  then,  feeling  that  they 
would  have  much  to  say  to  each  other,  which  no 


116  Suppressed  Sensations. 

third  party  could  be  interested  in,  she  retired  to 
another  room. 

"You  will  forgive  me,  and  keep  my  secret. 
John,"  she  said,  while  blushes  of  maiden 
modesty  suffused  her  cheeks.  "It  waa  for  your 
sake  !  " 

"  My  darling  girl,"  he  replied.  "  How  cruel  of 
you  it  was  thus  to  desert  us  and  keep  us  in 
agony  so  long.  Of  course  I  do  not  know  the 
reasons  for  this  flight,  for  —  for  —  the  curious 
disguise  and  the  queer  place  in  which  I  found 
you.  A  thousand  idle  rumors,  a  hundred  idiotic 
scandals,  have  been  launched,  none  of  which,  I 
feel  certain,  are  true.  I  never  gave  you  up,  when 
week  after  week  passed,  when  your  friends 
mourned  you  as  one  dead.  I  hoped  on,  I  have 
never  rested,  never  ceased  a  moment  in  my 
search.  It  was  the  fame  of  the  Spanish  canta- 
trice  which  led  me  to  that  place  to-night.  I 
thought,  in  my  folly,  that  that  singer  might  be 
you.  Of  course  I  was  deceived,  but  who  can 
deny  the  fact  that  a  mysterious  Providence 
guided  my  steps  in  that  direction.  And  now,  my 
angel,  my  wife,  my  own,  tell  me  the  cause  and 
the  particulars  of  your  flight,  and  why  you 
chose  so  strange  an  attire  ;  where  you  have  lived, 


The  Tell -Tale  Skull.  II1) 

and  what  you  have  done  since  the  fatal  night  you 
fled  from  Chicago." 

Selina  opened  her  heart  fully  to  her  lover,  gave 
him  the  story  of  her  persecution,  her  father's 
infatuation  and  strange  commands.  She  then 
inquired  of  her  sister's  condition,  her  father's 
welfare,  and  what  had  become  of  her  tor- 
menter. 

"  I  am  sorry, ' '  her  lover  replied,  4 '  that  I  have 
such  bad  news  to  convey.  Your  sister,  almost 
broken-hearted  at  your  loss  —  for  she  has  long 
deemed  you  dead,  and  the  perfidy  of  her  lover, 
still  lives  at  home,  bat  visits  nowhere,  and  sees 
no  company.  Vivian  Denston  seems  to  have 
some  mysterious  influence  over  your  father,  and 
I  fear  has  led  him  into  haunts  of  vice,  where 
gambling  for  large  stakes  has  sadly  impaired  a 
once  colossal  fortune.  Bond  after  bond,  security 
after  security,  has,  I  fear,  found  its  way  into  the 
pockets  of  this  man  and  his  abandoned  compan- 
ions, but  his  malign  influence  over  him  seems  as 
strong  as  ever.  What  is  this  tie  ?  Do  you  know 
how  or  why  a  man  like  Hiram  Smith  should  be 
the  companion,  the  forced  companion,  I  verily 
believe,  of  a  man  so  notoriously  known  as  a  chief 
among  the  gambling  fraternity  of  Chicago?" 


118  Suppressed  Sensations. 

"I  do  not  know,  but  am  convinced  that  this 
man,  who  would  have  married  me,  holds  some 
dreadful  secret  of  my  poor  father' s,  and  that  he 
dare  not  disobey  him  or  throw  him  over,  but  I 
will  dare  all  to  save  my  father  from  ruin.  I  will 
accompany  you  to  Chicago  and  confront  the  man 
I  hate  and  wrest  from  him  the  secret  he  pos- 
sesses?" 

"  Will  you  go  as  my  wife,  Selina  ?  Say  you 
will  be  mine.  You  are  your  own  mistress, 
nobody  dare  control  you,  and  we  will  together 
work  to  save  your  parent  from  this  fiend  in  hu- 
man form?  " 

"No,  John,  I  can  not  do  this,  I  can  not  marry 
until  this  fearful  enigma  is  solved.  I  feel  that  it 
is  my  mission  to  attempt  its  solution,  and  any- 
thing, save  one  dreadful  alternative,  that  will 
secure  my  parent  from  the  machinations  of  this 
man,  I  will  do.  Your  honorable  character  is 
well  known,  and  mine  is  safe  in  your  keep- 
ing. I  will  accompany  you  to  Chicago,  and 
together  we  will  see  what  can  be  done  to 
remove  the  baneful  influence  of  the  monster 
from  my  father." 

"  Brave  girl,  while  grieving  at  your  decision, 
I  admire  your  motive,  and  when  we  together  have 


The  Tell  -Tale  Skull. 


restored  your  father  to  himself,  I  shall  claim  my 
reward." 

"  Which  shall  be  yours."  she  bl  a  shingly 
replied,  and  the  two  then  parted  for  the  night. 

The  following  day  they  started  for  Chicago, 
a  letter  breaking  the  news  having  been  dispatched 
to  the  sister  by  that  night's  mail.  Little  did  they 
think  what  a  welcome  awaited  them.  The 
letter  arrived  twenty-four  hours  before  the  train  v 
by  which  they  traveled. 

When  within  some  forty  miles  of  the  city,  the 
newsboys  cried  the  Chicago  papers  through  the 
cars,  and,  purchasing  one,  John  Fleming  was  hor- 
rified to  see  among  the  most  prominent  news,  a 
long  account  headed  "  Mysterious  murder  or 
suicide  on  the  steps  of  the  Court  House." 

It  was  only  by  the  most  energetic  will-power 
that  he  was  able  to  conceal  his  emotion,  and 
flinging  the  paper  out  of  the  car-window,  he 
carefully  abstained  from  making  any  allusions 
which  could  arouse  the  curiosity  of  his  affianced 
bride.  It  appeared  that  on  receiving  the  intelli- 
gence of  the  recovery  of  his  daughter,  long 
supposed  dead,  the  infatuated  man  had  commu- 
nicated the  intelligence  to  Denston,  whose 
inflammable  nature,  aroused  by  the  intelligence,  . 


120  Suppressed  Sensations. 

at  once  determined  on  a  cruel  revenge,  and  de- 
manded of  the  poor  old  man  the  immediate  con- 
summation of  their  nuptials  upon  her  return. 

This  was  the  last  straw.  Weakened  mentally 
by  long  suffering,  ruined  in  purse  by  the  constant 
raids  made  upon  it  under  threats  of  denounce- 
ment ;  the  grinning  evidence  of  an  undiscovered 
and  unpunished  crime  forever  beneath  his  eyes, 
he  could  bear  up  no  longer.  Writing  a  full  con- 
fession of  the  crime  he  had  committed,  and  which 
had  indeed,  been  a  scorpion  whip  to  him,  he  left 
it  on  his  escritoire,  kissed  his  remaining  daugh- 
ter with  a  kinder  fervor  than  usual,  and  pro- 
ceeding at  midnight  to  the  Douglas  Monument, 
he  had  placed  a  pistol  to  his  head  and  blown  out 
his  brains. 

The  secret  of  the  skull  was  at  length  revealed. 
Some  thirty  years  before,  he  had  entered  into 
speculations  in  the  canals  at  Lockport,  in  con- 
junction with  a  friend,  who  placed  implicit  con- 
fidence in  his  honor.  By  his  friend' s  death,  an 
immense  sum  of  money  and  real  estate,  rapidly 
increasing  in  value,  would  be  his  alone.  He 
struggled  against  temptation,  but  mammon  was 
too  strong  for  him,  and,  in  a  moment  of  utter 
abandonment  to  the  evil  influence,  he  became  a 


The  Tell -Tale  Skull.  121 

murderer,  hiding  the  victim  of  his  crime  in  the 
grove  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden.  The  myste- 
rious disappearance  caused  much  comment  at 
the  time,  but  Smith  escaped  suspicion.  He  be- 
came the  possessor  of  the  wealth  of  his  friend 
by  a  false  will,  and  thought  all  was  safe.  Many 
years  after,  while  digging  the  foundation  for  a 
new  house  which  Vivian  Denston  was  intending 
to  build,  on  property  purchased  from  the  specu- 
lator who  transferred  the  Toledo  and  Wabash 
shares  to  Hiram  Smith,  a  skeleton  was  found. 
Denston  was  notified,  and  examining  the  skull, 
found  the  mark  of  the  pistol  shot.  The  disap- 
pearance of  the  former  partner,  the  suddenly 
acquired  wealth,  the  peculiar  will,  and  the  own- 
ership of  the  property,  led  him  to  make  his  own 
conclusions,  which  were  verified  by  the  terror  of 
Smith  upon  beholding  the  skull.  All  these 
things  were  made  known  at  the  time  of  the  sui- 
cide, but  were  carefully  suppressed,  and  this  is 
the  first  time  the  mystery  of  the  Court  House 
suicide  has  been  cleared  up. 

We  must  pass  over  the  grief  of  the  children, 
the  horror  they  felt  at  the  discovery  of  their 
father' s  turpitude,  and  the  excitement  caused  by 
the  occurrence  at  the  time.  It  is  sufficient  to  say, 


122 


Suppressed  Sensations. 


that  John  Fleming  is  to-day  the  honored  husband 
of  the  handsomest  blonde  in  Chicago  ;  the  elder 
sister  living  with  them  unmarried  and  resigned  ; 
while  the  author  of  so  much  misery,  the  elegant 
Vivian  Denston,  is  serving  out  a  long  term  of 
imprisonment  at  Joliet  for  a  participation  in  one 
of  the  most  notorious  forgeries  which  has  aston- 
ished the  commercial  world  of  America  since  the 
formation  of  the  Union. 


LEAF    VI. 


JANET  AND  JAMIE. 


HERE  is  a  queer 
case  down  stairs, ' '  said 
Captain  Simon  O'Don- 
nell,  chief  of  the  First 
Precinct  Chicago  Po- 
lice, to  the  writer,  as 
he  entered  the  Har- 
rison Street  Station 


must 


one     evening,   in 
pursuit   of    such 

»^^_ 

news  as    falls 
to  the  prov- 
ince of   a    night 
reporter    on  a  great 
morning  daily.     "  It' s 
a   very   queer    case    in- 
deed,"   he    continued,   "and  I 
I  think  the  poor  girl's  story  is  true." 

(123) 


124  Suppressed  Sensations. 

Now  queer  cases  are  so  continually  occurring, 
which  take  on  the  most  prosaic  of  forms  when 
subjected  to  the  light  of  scrutiny,  that  the  burly 
Captain's  announcement  met  only  an  indifferent 
reception,  and,  after  collecting  from  the  station- 
keeper  whatever  of  interest  had  come  within  the 
limits  of  his  observation,  I  was  about  departing, 
when  the  turnkey  met  me  on  the  outer  stairs, 
arid  remarked,  "Of  course  you've  been  below  to 
see  that  poor  Scotch  lassie  and  hear  her  story  ? J' 

"  No.     Is  it  worth  the  listening  to  ? " 

"Come  and  see.'' 

And  thus  saying,  the  keeper  of  the  keys  led 
the  way  to  the  basement  floor,  which  was  his 
peculiar  domain. 

I  wonder  if  one  reputable  citizen  in  a  thou- 
sand has  the  remotest  idea  regarding  the  cell 
portion  of  a  city  prison,  or  gives  a  thought 
to  the  possibility  of  reform  in  the  appointments 
of  such  a  place.  To  be  sure,  it  is  neither  a 
Marshalsea  nor  a  Newgate.  Its  walls  are  clean 
and  sweet  as  water  and  whitewash  can  make 
them.  Its  temperature  is  regulated  by  steam 
and  thermometer.  Its  guardians  are  men  of 
integrity  and  kindly  purpose.  Yet  the  cells, 
ranged  in  line,  with  their  barred  fronts,  their 


Janet  and  Jamie.  125 

stone  tioors,  their  one  wooden  bench,  and  their 
noisome  insect  inmates,  are  anything  but  at- 
tractive for  those  not  born  to  the  dungeon. 
Great  rats,  grown  fat  and  foul,  wander  about 
with  a  fearlessness  bred  of  familiarity ;  and 
drunken  prisoners,  reckless  through  years  of  sin 
and  degradation,  fill  in  the  hours  with  loud- 
voiced  ribaldry. 

As  the  first  huge  door  opened  to  admit  us,  a 
shriek  rang  out  on  the  air,  so  despairing,  so 
awful  in  the  intensity  of  its  fear,  that  we  invol- 
untarily paused. 

'  <  What  is  that  V7 

"Oh,  it's  a  fellow  brought  down  here  awhile 
ago  to  sober  up.  I  should  judge  from  the  noise 
he  makes  that  he  was  crossing  the  frontier  into 
the  land  of  delirium  tremens.  But  come  on,  and 
never  mind  him  now.  If  he  is  suffering,  he  has 
himself  alone  to  blame." 

So  the  turnkey  strode  ahead  down  the  second 
corridor  to  where  stood  a  cell  with  wide  open 
portal,  so  situated  as  to  catch  every  breeze 
wafted  in  through  the  window  from  the  hot  July 
night. 

"Miss  Ross,"  he  said — and  it  was  wonderful 
to  note  how  his  voice  of  harsh  command  toned 


126  Suppressed  Sensations. 

down  to  gentlest  courtesy  — "  here  is  a  gentleman 
who  would  like  to  hear  whatever  you  may  choose 
to  tell  him,  and  who,  I  have  no  doubt,  will  be 
glad  to  serve  you  by  every  means  in  his  power." 

At  this  there  came  from  out  the  darkness  of 
the  place  a  woman  whose  large  gray  eyes  were 
dominated  by  an  eager,  questioning  look,  which 
often  gave  place  to  an  expression  of  unutterable, 
hopeless  sadness.  A  woman  ?  As  she  reached 
the  full  glare  of  the  gas,  she  seemed  hardly  more 
than  a  child — a  wee  thing  to  be  taken  home  by 
loving  parents  and  cared  for  and  petted. 

But  for  all  that  there  was  something  in  her 
face  of  dignity  and  loveliness  which  fascinated, 
and  drew  off  all  obtrusive  attention  from  her 
coarse  and  scanty  garments.  She  seemed  one  who 
had  arrived  at  queenhood  through  suffering,  and 
the  crown  she  wore  was  a  glorious  coil  of  auburn 
hair,  which  shimmered  in  the  light  as  the  sea 
glints  in  the  sunshine. 

uCan  you  help  me  to  find  my  Jamie?"  she 
asked,  in  a  sweet  contralto  voice. 

"  Who  is  your  Jamie  ? "  I  queried. 

"  Perhaps  it  would  be  as  well,  sir,  to  tell  you 
the  whole  story,  and  then  you  may  be  able  to 
advise  me  better.  You  see,  sir,  I  am  from  the 


Janet  and  Jamie.  127 

old  Scotch  cathedral  town  of  Elgin,  away  off 
among  the  Moray  shire  hills,  and  Jamie  and  me 
were  born  in  High  street,  only  a  short  distance 
from  each  other.  He  was  older  than  I,  and  very 
clever.  His  father  wanted  him  to  clerk  in  a  dra- 
per' s  shop,  but  he  didn'  t  care  to  be  a  tradesman 
and  ran  away  from  home.  He  came  back  a 
couple  of  years  ago  from  Aberdeen,  where  he  had 
been  working  in  a  solicitor' s  office.  By  this  time 
he  was  of  age,  and  his  visit  was  that  he  might 
see  me. 

uHe  told  me  what  I  already  knew.  He  said 
he  loved  me  and  wished  me  to  marry  him,  but 
that  when  I  was  his  wife,  he  couldn't  bear  to 
have  me  work  and  be  poor  all  my  life,  so  he  had 
come  for  my  promise,  and  then  he  was  going 
away  to  America,  where  a  willing  man  could  be 
and  do  something.  Ah  me !  I  was  proud  and 
huppy,  and  yet  so  sorry,  for  you  see  I  didn't 
want  to  let  him  go  so  far  away.  But  it  all  seemed 
for  the  best,  and  after  we  had  plighted  our  troth, 
he  strode  off  down  the  street,  to  catch  the  Glas- 
gow train.  It  was  just  at  sunset,  and  I  can 
almost  see  him  yet — so  tall,  so  manly,  so  bright, 
so  bonny. 

"Well,  sir,"  she  continued,  "he  sailed  as  he 
9 


128  Suppressed  Sensations. 

said  lie  should,  and  then  the  letters  began 
to  reach  me.  First  he  wrote  from  New  York 
about  the  great  busy  land  in  which  he  found 
himself,  and  then  there  followed  word  that  he 
had  decided  to  make  Chicago  his  home,  because 
some  friends  there  were  going  to  help  him 
finish  his  studies,  and  get  to  be  what  you 
call  a  lawyer.  About  two  months  ago  he  sent 
me  £50,  and  said  I  should  come  to  him ; 
that  he  was  doing  well  ;  and  that  there  was 
no  reason  why  we  should  wait  longer.  So  I 
got  ready,  bade  dear  old  Elgin  good  bye,  and 
reached  here  three  weeks  ago. 

"  H^ow  glad  I  was  when  they  said  the  train 
would  be  in  Chicago  in  an  hour  !  for  you  see  I 
thought  Jamie  would  be  waiting  for  me  at  the 
station.  But  he  wasn't.  So  I  had  to  go  to  a  ho- 
tel all  by  myself,  and  the  next  morning  I  went  to 
the  place  where  he  was  working  for  some  attor- 
neys. What  a  cruel  lie  they  told  me !  They  said 
Jamie  had  lost  his  place  because  he  drank  too 
much.  I  came  away  from  there  sick  at  heart.  I 
advertised  in  the  papers  for  him,  and  went  to  all 
the  lawyers'  offices,  but  no  one  knew  where  he 
was. 

"  Then  a  few  days  ago  my  money  gave  out,  and 


Janet  and  Jamie.  129 

the  innkeeper  held  my  things  for  board,  and 
turned  me  from  his  house.  To-night  I  was  al- 
most starving,  and  a  kind  policeman  brought  me 
here.  They  are  very  good,  but  it' s  a  horrid  place, 
and  those  men  they  have  locked  up  say  such 
wicked  words  that  I've  been  sitting  away  back 
in  the  dark  to  try  and  not  hear  them.  Do  you 
think,"  she  wistfully  closed,  uthat  you  can  help 
me  to  find  my  Jamie,  for  you  know  I  feel  sure 
he  is  looking  for  me  as  eagerly  as  I  am  for  him  ?" 

All  the  while  the  poor  girl  had  been  telling  of 
her  love  and  loyalty,  demoniac  yells  had  con- 
tinued to  issue  from  the  cell  of  the  rum  maniac, 
and  toward  the  last,  the  turnkey  had  gone  away 
to  call  a  physician,  who  might  do  something  for 
the  agonized  sufferer.  He  now  returned,  and 
said: 

"  Perhaps  there'll  be  another  item  for  you 
before  morning.  That  crazy  man,  the  doc- 
tor says,  has  the  worst  case  of  { snakes '  he 
ever  saw,  and  can't  last  many  hours  longer. 
Seems  to  be  a  nice  young  fellow,  too,  for 
every  little  while  when  his  senses  kind  o' 
come  back  to  him,  he  is  calling  for  Janet  —  a 
sweetheart  of  his,  I  suppose,  or  something  oi 
that  sort.'1 


Janet  and  Jamie.  131 

"  Why,  how  strange!"  exclaimed  the  little 
Scotch  lady  ;  "  my  name  is  Janet." 

The  turnkey  started.  "  By  Jove  !  "  he  mut- 
tered to  himself,  "I never  thought  of  that,"  and 
he  hurried  away  up  stairs  to  the  station-keeper' s 
office.  He  came  back  in  a  moment  very  quietly, 
and  said,  with  a  pitying  look : 

"  Miss  Ross,  what  is  the  full  name  of  the  gen- 
tleman you  wish  to  find  ? " 

"  James  Gordon  Campbell,"  she  replied. 

"All  right,"  he  responded,  with  a  forced 
attempt  at  cheerfulness.  "  Now  you  take  a 
little  rest  while  I  show  this  gentleman  about, 
and  then  we  will  decide  what  we  can  do  for 
you." 

As  she  tripped  back  into  her  dismal  abiding 
place,  the  turnkey  whispered  in  my  ear — 

"Great  God!  what  shall  we  do?  That  poor 
little  girl's  lover  is  the  man  with  the  tre- 
mens  ! " 

"Is  there  any  chance  that  he  will  recover  ? " 

"Not  the  slightest  in  the  world.  He's  a 
nervous  wreck,  and  may  go  to  pieces  at  any 
moment." 

"Does  the  doctor  think  he  will  be  rational 
before  he  dies?" 


132  Suppressed  Sensations. 

"Yes,  he  says  that  when  exhaustion  takes 
the  place  of  delirium  the  man  may  have  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  of  sanity,  but  that  such 
a  symptom  is  the  immediate  precursor  of 
death." 

"Well,  then,  watch  him  closely,  and  wait 
till  that  moment  arrives.  Janet  Ross  must 
never  know  the  man  she  worships  is  dy- 
ing of  drink.  So  tell  me  when  it  comes  to 
the  last,  and  leave  what  remains  to  be  done 
to  me." 

With  these  words  I  went  up  stairs  and  out  in 
front  of  the  frowning  building,  which  had  seen 
the  burial  of  so  many  high  hopes,  but  in  all  its 
existence  no  sadder  tragedy  than  this.  The 
clouds  which  had  flitted  across  the  moon  and 
stars  ever  since  sundown,  now  gathered  in  great 
black  masses,  from  out  which  darted  angry 
lightnings.  The  thunder  rolled  heavily  above 
the  subdued  murmurs  of  a  sleeping  city, 
and  big  drops  began  to  fall  in  presage  of  a 
storm. 

A  hand  touched  me  lightly  on  the  shoulder, 
and  a  voice  said  simply,  "  Come."  I  understood, 
and  followed. 

Once  more  we  entered  the  gloomy,  iron-bound 


Janet  and  Jamie.  133 

portals  ;  but  already  there  was  a  change.  A  sol- 
emn hush  had  succeeded  the  noisy  outbreaks  of 
an  hour  before.  A  little  group  of  men  were  gath- 
ered in  front  of  an  open  cell.  Among  their 
number  was  a  physician  who  was  kneeling 
above  a  prostrate  form,  with  something  more 
than  professional  gravity  and  interest  in  his 
air. 

The  patient  who  was  receiving  his  attention  lay 
on  his  back  on  the  floor,  a  blanket  under  his 
head,  and  the  bare  stones  his  couch.  There  was  no 
sign  of  delirium  about  him  now,  and  as  he  threw 
back  his  damp,  blonde  locks,  or  absently  twitched 
at  his  tawny  mustache,  his  dark  blue  eyes 
seemed  to  be  gazing  far  away  beyond  the 
present  into  a  past  filled  with  tender  recol- 
lections. 

"Can  we  do  anything  for  you,  my  poor 
fellow  1"  asked  one  from  among  the  number 
standing  about. 

"Nothing,"  came  the  reply,  "I  only  long 
for  the  impossible.  I  want  to  see  the  dear 
old  town,  and  wander  among  the  heather 
blooms  again  with  Janet.  Poor  girl !  If  I 
could  only  tell  her  all,  and  knew  that  she 
forgave  me!" 


134:  Suppressed  Sensations. 

The  turnkey  looked  at  me.  "  Bring  her  here," 
he  whispered.  I  went,  and  found  the  wanderer 
seated  as  before  in  her  chosen  dark  corner, 
waiting. 

"  You  have  come  back,"  she  cried,  stepping 
out  into  the  light.  ' '  I  felt  sure  you  would  keep 
your  word.  Can  you  tell  me  anything  of  Jamie, 
yet?" 

"  Yes,  much,"  I  answered,  "  but  first  promise 
me  to  summon  all  your  courage  and  fortitude,  for 
while  you  shall  see  Jamie,  it  will  be  only  for  a 
short,  very  short  time." 

The  girl's  face  grew  white,  and  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears.  "  Yes,  yes,"  she  cried,  "  I  will  be 
brave,  only  tell  me  —  is  he  sick,  or  hurt,  or  any- 
thing ?  and  can  I  go  to  him  ? " 

"Yes,"  and  my  lips  framed  a  lie  which  was 
merciful.  "We  found  him  out  of  work  and 
dying  in  a  noisome  lodging  house.  His  only 
thought  is  for  you,  and  we  have  brought  him 
here  that  you  may  be  together.  Come." 

Janet  staggered  back  and  pressed  her  little 
hand  to  her  heart.  She  seemed  about  to  faint, 
and  then  with  desperate  energy  rallied  and 
said:  "Take  me  to  him  quick,  anci 
help  me  !  " 


Janet  and  Jamie.  135 

As  we  approached,  the  group  of  lookers-on 
fell  back.  Jamie  was  lying  as  before,  but  his 
senses  were  already  wandering,  and  his  only  cry 
was,  ' c  Janet,  where  are  you,  my  darling  ? ' ' 

She  stepped  to  his  side,  and  leaning  over,  put 
one  cool  soft  hand  on  his  fevered  brow.  "  Here 
I  am,  Jamie." 

The  closed  eyes  opened,  and  ^the  vagrant 
mind  rallied  to  this  supreme  call  of  love.  "  I 
am  dying,  dear,"  he  murmured,  "  and  all 
our  dreams  and  plans  can  never  come  to 
pass." 

"It  is  the  dear  Lord's  will,"  Janet  whispered, 
with  something  of  the  old  Scotch  fatalism,  "  and 
we  must  submit.  There  is  nothing  else  to  do,  but 
while  you  live,  we  will  be  together,"  and  sitting 
down  she  gently  drew  his  head  into  her  lap.  He 
breathed  a  sigh  of  relief,  and  lay  silent  for  a 
moment. 

"Do  you  remember,  Janet,"  he  finally  said, 
"thfcse  songs  we  sang  together  in  auld  lang 
syne?  Well,  do  you  know  I  can't  live  but  a 
little  while,  and  it  seems  I  should  die  happier  if 
the  last  sound  I  heard  was  your  voice  as  I  used 
to  hear  it  when  we  sat  side  by  side  to  see  the  sur$ 
go  clown  below  the  hills." 


136  Suppressed  Sensations. 

The  maiden  choked  back  a  rising  sob  with 
a  mighty  effort,  and  began  in  a  low,  rich 
contralto,  that  sweet,  sad  ballad  of  Highland 
Mary : 

"  Ye  banks,  and  braes,  and  streams  around 

The  castle  of  Montgomery, 
Green  be  your  fields  and  fair  your  flowers, 

Your  waters  never  drumlie. 
There  summer  first  unfolds  her  robe, 

And  there  the  longest  tarry, 
For  there  I  took  the  last  farewell 

Of  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 

"  With  many  a  vow  and  locked  embrace, 

Our  parting  was  full  tender, 
And  pledging  oft  .to  meet  again, 

We  tore  ourselves  asunder. 
But,  Oh !  fell  death's  untimely  frost, 

That  nipped  my  flower  so  early ! 
How  green's  the  sod,  and  cold  the  clay 
That  wraps  my  Highland  Mary." 

The  tones  echoed  out  through  the  corridor,  un- 
faltering, pure,  yet  hopeless,  and  more  than  one 
listener  turned  away  to  hide  an  unaccustomed 
tear.  The  singer  closed  the  second  verse,  when 
Jamie  raised  himself  with  a  last  convulsive  effort, 
threw  his  arms  about  her  neck,  kissed  her,  and 


Janet  and  Jamie.  137 

gasping    "Good  bye,   my  love,"    fell   back    a 
corpse. 

Then  the  poor  heart,  so  sorely  and  suddenly 
overburdened,  gave  way,  and  a  rain  of  tears 
showered  the  face  of  the  dead.  We  left  her 
alone  with  her  grief,  but  before  we  departed,  a 
small  purse  was  deposited  with  the  station- 
keeper  for  her  benefit. 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

Next  day  found  me  again  at  the  station. 

" Where  is  the  little  Scotch  lassie?"  I 
asked. 

"At  the  Morgue." 

"  What ! " 

"Fact.  We  gave  her  that  money  this  morn- 
ing, and  she  thanked  us  pretty  as  could  be.  She 
was  quiet,  but  with  the  strangest  fixed  look  on 
her  features  you  ever  saw.  About  two  hours  ago 
a  policeman  of  the  day  squad  came  in  and  report- 
ed a  suicide  just  found  in  the  lake  at  the  foot  of 
Twelfth  street.  I  went  and  took  a  look  at  the 
body.  It  was  Janet  Ross." 

"  And  the  money  ?" 

"She'd  used  it  to  pay  what  she  owed  that 
infernal  hotel  keeper  who  put  her  out." 


138  Suppressed  Sensations'. 

Peeping  above  the  rank,  uncared-for  grass  of 
summer,  a  gravestone  at  Graceland  bears  the  in- 
scription : 


JANET  AND  JAMIE. 


And  that  is  all. 


'  '' T  C^ft'.'^—-'^,.*-  i 


LEAF    VII. 


THE  WITNESS  FROM  THE  DEAD. 


OST    of    the 
representatives 
of  the  numer- 
ous nationali- 
ties congrega- 
ted   in    this 
most  cosmopoli- 
tan of  Western 
cities,  naturally, 
and  of   their  own 
choice,    gravitate 
around  separate  and 
'almost  distinct  centres, 
and  although,  of  course, 
the  native  element  is  everywhere 
represented,  localities    may    be 
f  found,  and,  indeed,  are  well  defined, 
in  which  the  large  majority  of  the 
residents  are  children  of  adoption 
and  not  uto  the  manor  born." 

(139) 


140  Suppressed  Sensations. 

Thus  the  North  Side  is  largely  German ;  the 
explorer  of  Halsted  street  will  find  the  Hibernian 
element  predominating  largely  as  he  travels 
south ;  and  the  traveler  by  a  Milwaukee  avenue 
car  passes  through  a  couple  of  miles  of  territory 
in  which  a  large  majority  of  the  residents  are  of 
Scandinavian  birth.  South  Canal  street  and 
Canalport  avenue  are  so  distinctively  Bohemian 
in  their  character  that  this  quarter  is  popularly 
known  as  "  Bohemia."  At  the  foot  of  Indiana 
avenue,  between  Twelfth  and  Fourteenth  streets, 
is  a  closely-packed  colony  of  Italians,  while 
French,  Swedish  and  other  foreign-born  citizens 
abound  in  other  districts. 

The  scene  of  this  brief  story,  one  of  the  most 
startling  and  strange  that  ever  came  under  the 
notice  of  the  writer,  is  laid  in  the  Polish  colony 
in  the  northwestern  part  of  the  city,  in  the  vicin- 
ity of  Elston  road.  Possibly  a  condition  of 
things  to  be  found  nowhere  else  in  the  Union 
exists  here.  The  people  are  chiefly  of  the  lower 
orders  from  Warsaw,  Cracow,  and  the  divisions 
of  Czersko  and  Sandonura.  Bred  up  in  almost 
total  ignorance,  and  looking  upon  their  priests  as 
their  only  governors,  they  are  for  the  most  part 
bigoted  and  superstitious.  At  the  same  time 


The  Witness  from  the  Dead.  14 1 

they  are  industrious  and  economical.  Their 
affairs,  both  spiritual  and  temporal,  are  managed 
alrnobt  exclusively  by  their  priests,  who  carry  on 
their  correspondence,  superintend  the  investment 
of  their  savings,  examine  into  the  titles  of  the 
homesteads  they  acquire,  and  forward  money  for 
them  to  their  relatives  and  friends  on  the  banks 
of  the  Weisel  or  Vistula. 

That  popular  belief  in  the  existence  of  ghosts 
and  other  apparitions,  which  with  the  modern 
American  and  his  advanced  theories  has  become 
almost  a  thing  of  the  past  among  the  native  born, 
still  remains  strongly  fixed  in  the  minds  of  the 
Polish  settlers.  That  such  things  really  are,  I 
would  be  the  last  to  declare,  yet  in  the  face  of 
the  remarkable  case  which  I  have  to  narrate, 
and  which  came  under  my  personal  observance, 
I  can  not  overlook  the  possibilities.  Expo- 
nents of  spiritualism  and  correlative  beliefs  may 
find  in  these,  in  electro-biology  or  in  physic- 
force,  mesmerism  or  some  one  of  half  a  dozen 
"isms,"  an  explanation  which  may  satisfy 
them.  I  can  not  explain,  and  it  is  simply  my 
task  to  record  the  facts  as  they  were  brought 
to  my  notice.  They  are  vouched  for  by 
credible  witnesses,  some  of  them  gentlemen 

10 


Suppressed  Sensations. 


of  much  more  than  ordinary  intelligence  and 
ability. 

Bernhard  Rubas,  by  trade  a  striker  in  a  black- 
smith' s  shop,  was  a  man  of  massive  build,  drunken 
and  quarrelsome  in  his  habits,  and  the  terror  of 
the  neighborhood  in  which  he  lived.  The  loose- 
ness of  his  life  and  his  evil  disposition  had  made 
him  a  scandal  and  a  reproach,  and  it  was  cur- 
rently reported  that  he  feared  neither  God,  man, 
nor  the  devil.  For  several  years  prior  to  August, 
1875,  his  wife  had  been  ailing,  scarcely  able  to 
drag  her  weary  feet  day  by  day  to  the  mills  with 
the  little  tin  can  containing  her  husband'  s  lunch, 
and  too  much  of  an  invalid  to  accompany  him 
to  the  saloon  or  beer-garden  in  which  he  nightly 
spent  the  most  of  his  hard  earnings. 

As  her  malady  increased,  the  poor  woman  was 
more  and  more  neglected  by  her  brutal  husband, 
and  she  was  indebted  to  the  care  and  kindness  of 
a  widow  of  her  own  nationality,  whose  husband 
met  his  death  by  the  explosion  of  a  mould,  for 
what  few  small  comforts  she  enjoyed.  Her  hus- 
band, while  neglecting  her,  had,  it  appeared, 
formed  an  intimacy  with  a  woman  of  somewhat 
notorious  character,  a  "  squatter"  on  some  un- 
occupied land  near  the  Rolling  Mills,  where  she 


The  Witness  from  the  Dead.  143 

obtained  a  living  by  managing  a  garden  patch, 
which  she  had  herself  fenced  in,  and  by  keeping 
a  cow,  some  chickens,  and  other  farm  animals. 
In  fact  Rubas  was  more  frequently  to  be  found, 
when  not  at  the  beer-garden,  in  the  company  of 
this  person,  a  congenial  associate  for  a  man  of 
such  habits  and  temper. 

One  morning  when  the  poor  widow  before  men- 
tioned came  in  about  the  usual  hour  to  visit  her 
sick  friend,  she  found,  to  her  intense  astonish- 
ment, the  house  deserted  entirely.  On  the  pre- 
vious afternoon  she  had  left  Mrs.  Rubas  very  ill 
in  bed,  and  it  seemed  scarcely  credible  that  she 
should  have  been  able  to  leave  her  couch.  The 
bed  had  been  occupied  but  the  sheets  were  cold, 
there  was  no  fire  in  the  stove,  and  portions  of  the 
woman' s  apparel  were  lying  on  the  chair  by  the 
bedside  as  usual.  The  widow  inquired  among 
the  neighbors,  bufc  none  of  them  had  seen  aught 
of  Terena  Rubas.  It  should  be  stated  that  the 
cottage  occupied  by  the  ill-assorted  couple  stood 
in  a  somewhat  retired  position,  and  that  the 
nearest  inhabited  house  was  distant  from  it  at 
least  one  hundred  yards. 

The  widow  sought  next  the  man  Rubas,  whom 
she  found  with  his  sleeves  rolled  up  over  the 
10 


144  Suppressed  Sensations. 

elbows  of  his  brawny  arms,  and  hard  at  work. 
Leaning  upon  the  sledge-hammer  with  which  he 
was  busied,  the  man  declared,  with  a  great  oath, 
that  he  neither  knew  nor  cared  what  had  become 
of  his  wife.  There  were  few  to  interest  them- 
selves to  any  great  extent  in  regard  to  the  wel- 
fare of  the  poor  patient  creature  who  had  so  long 
borne  the  brutality  of  her  so-called  protector,  but 
her  disappearance  caused  some  talk  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. 

Before,  however,  the  story  had  time  to  crystal- 
lize into  suspicion  and  doubt,  all  surmises  were 
set  at  rest.  On  the  evening  of  the  same  day  a 
workman  employed  on  the  excavations  in  Lincoln 
Park  discovered  the  dead  body  of  the  woman 
lying  face  downward  in  a  pond  near  the  lake 
shore.  The  depth  of  the  water  was  not  more 
than  three  feet,  and  the  most  natural  hypothesis 
was,  that  the  poor  woman,  tired  of  the  constant 
abuse  to  which  she  had  been  subjected,  had 
decided  to  end  all  her  troubles  at  once  by 
suicide. 

An  inquest  was  held,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
and,  without  much  investigation,  beyond  ascer- 
taining the  fact  that  the  woman  lived  unhappily 
with  her  husband,  a  verdict  of  "  suicide  by 


The  Witness  from  the  Dead.  145 

drowning"  was  returned.  There  were  not  want- 
ing at  the  time  many  who  argued  that  the  hus- 
band was  morally  to  blame  for  the  death  of  his 
maltreated  wife,  and  that  he  had  driven  her  to 
self-murder  by  his  infernal  brutality,  but  it  did 
not  occur  to  any  one  to  impute  to  him  the  actual 
commission  of  murder.  The  body  was  handed 
over  to  the  husband  for  burial,  and  was  decently 
though  plainly  interred  in  the  Polish  Catholic 
Cemetery,  although  not  in  consecrated  ground. 
The  husband  followed  the  remains  to  the  grave- 
yard, the  only  other  attendant  being  the  Pol- 
ish widow,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  grave 
closed  on  all  that  was  mortal  of  poor  Terena 
Rubas. 

The  death  of  his  wife  seemed  in  no  way  to 
act  as  a  warning  to  Bernhard.  He  behaved 
fairly  well  on  the  day  of  the  inquest  and 
the  funeral,  but  on  returning  from  the  latter 
in  the  evening,  started  straightway  for  a  sa- 
loon, and  long  before  midnight  had  drank 
himself  into  a  state  of  complete  intoxication. 
He  now  made  no  secret  of  his  connection  with 
the  woman  before  referred  to,  and  actually 
sold  hkfc.homestead  and  removed  his  furniture 
to  her  house. 


146  Suppressed  Sensations. 

Terena's  friend,  the  poor  widow  who  had 
so  carefully  tended  her  while  alive,  mourned 
deeply,  and  felt  almost  tempted  to  question 
the  over-ruling  power  of  Providence,  as  she 
thought  of  her  sufferings  and  death,  while  the 
brutal  husband  reveled  in  health  and  indulged 
to  the  full  in  his  career  of  profligacy  and  dis- 
sipation. 

And  now  comes  the  strangest  part  of  this 
history,  which,  if  it  had  not  been  sworn  to 
in  court  before  a  judge,  and  corroborated  by 
still  more  mysterious  circumstances,  would  be 
looked  upon  as  too  romantic  to  deserve  for  a 
moment  the  consideration  of  the  intelligent 
reader. 

One  evening,  a  few  months  after  the  death  of 
Mrs.  Rubas,  the  widow  was  sitting  on  a  bench 
in  front  of  her  cottage,  a  retired  one  near  to 
Glybourne  place,  when  she  heard  footsteps 
approaching,  and,  turning  her  head,  saw  Terena 
Rubas  by  her  side.  The  sweetness,  mildness, 
and  naturalness  of  her  appearance  completely 
overmastered  that  terror  which  it  would  be 
thought  such  an  apparition  would  have  occa- 
sioned, and,  instead  of  being  horrified,  the  widow 
was  really  rejoiced  to  see  her.  She  was  dressed 


148  Suppressed  Sensations. 

in  her  habit  as  she  lived,  and  there  was  nothing 
ghostly  or  shadow-like  in  her  appearance.  Ac- 
cording to  the  sworn  testimony  of  the  widow  as 
taken  before  a  Notary  Public,  and  afterwards 

repeated  in  the  private  room  of   Judge to 

that  estimable  jurist,  the  following  conversation 
then  took  place : 

4 'The  Saints  in  Heaven  preserve  us !  Terena,  is 
that  you?  Where  have  you  been?  We  all 
thought  it  was  your  body  they  found  in  the  pond 
at  Lincoln  Park." 

"And  who  did  you  think  put  me  there  ? " 
"  We  thought  you  had  drowned  yourself/' 
uHow  could  you  do  me  such  an  injustice  ?" 
"  What  could  I  do  ;  what  could  I  say  ;  what 
could    I    think?    But  where    have   you   been, 
Terena?" 

"  I  have  been  on. a  long,  long  journey." 
"  But    why    did   you  go  without  letting  me 
know?    You  know  I  was  always  a  friend  of 
yours." 

"  I  was  hurried  away,  and  had  no  time." 
"  But  you  were  so  ill.     How  could  you  get 
away?" 

"  I  am  better  now.  I  never  was  so  well  in  my 
life,  not  even  when,  a  light-hearted  girl,  I  danced 


The  Witness  from  the  Dead.  149 

at  home  by  the  banks  of  the  dear  old  Vistula. 
My  husband  cured  me." 

"What,  your  husband?  Why,  how  did  he 
cure  you?" 

"  With  a  bottle." 

"Why  didn't  he  tell  me?  I  don't  under- 
stand it  at  all.  But  where  have  you  been, 
Terena?" 

"I  have  been  on  a  journey  to  a  strange  place. 
But  you  know  nothing  of  it.  You  only  know 
that  dreadful  place  in  the  Park,  where  I  rested 
the  first  night,  and  a  cold,  damp  place  it 
was." 

"Heaven  help  me!  why  that  was  the  pond 
where  they  found  what  they  said  was  your 
body.  But  tell  me,  Terena,  are  you  really  not 
dead?" 

"How  can  you  ask  such  a  question?  Do 
you  not  see  me  alive  and  well,  and  happy  ?  Oh, 
so  happy !  " 

"  I  know  and  believe  that  the  soul  cannot  die. 
But  was  it  not  your  body  that  was  found  in  Lin- 
coln Park,  and  that  the  Coroner's  Jury  sat 
upon?" 

"You  are  right,  but  1  am  come  again  for 
your  sake,  that  you  should  not  think  hardly 


150  Suppressed  Sensations. 

of  me.  How  could  you  believe  I  would  kill 
myself?  My  husband  knocked  me  down  with 
a  blow  from  a  bottle  on  the  back  of  my  head, 
fracturing  my  skull.  He  then  put  my  body 
into  an  old  sack  and  carried  it  to  the  Park, 
watched  his  opportunity,  and  threw  it  into  the 
pond." 

The  strain  upon  the  widow's  nerves  was  too 
great  for  endurance.  She  fainted,  and  when  she 
returned  to  consciousness,  the  apparition,  or 
whatever  it  was,  had  disappeared.  The  truthful- 
ness, the  reality,  the  importance  of  what  she  had 
seen  and  heard,  were  so  impressed  upon  her  mind 
that  she  went  early  next  day  to  visit  the  Coroner, 
to  whom  she  told  the  story. 

Of  course,  that  official  laughed  at  the  tale, 
called  her  a  monomaniac,  and  told  her  to  go  to 
some  spiritualist  with  her  yarn,  for  that  they 
only  needed  a  thing  to  be  impossible  in  order  to 
believe  it.  The  advice  was  given  in  scorn,  for  the 
matter-of-fact  Coroner  had  no  sympathy  what- 
ever with  spiritualist  manifestations,  and  proba- 
bly held  rather  hazy  views  about  a  future  life 
anyhow.  But  the  woman  persevered,  and  carried 
her  story  from  one  high  official  to  another,  until 
she  saw  and  was  introduced  to  a  legal  gentleman 


The  Witness  from  the  Dead.  151 

well  known  as  a  believer  in  actual  manifestations 
from  the  Spirit  Land. 

He  determined  to  quietly  investigate  the  mat- 
ter, and  ascertain  what  credit  could  be  attached 
to  so  singular  a  circumstance.  His  first  act  was 
to  have  the  body  exhumed  and  examined.  This, 
his  official  position  enabled  him  to  have  done. 
It  was  evident  at  once  that  the  woman  had 
died  from  a  blow  on  the  head.  The  skull 
was  broken ;  the  fracture  was  semi- circular, 
and  the  long  liair  had  been  carefully  folded 
over  the  wound,  and  kept  in  place  by  one  of 
those  head-bands  so  constantly  worn  by  Polish 
wo^ien. 

Next,  without  the  issuance  of  a  warrant,  the 
man,  Bernhard  Rubas,  was  brought  before  the 

J ,  who  closely  questioned  him  in  his  private 

ottice.  The  man  was  defiant,  and  denied,  in  toto, 
every  accusation  or  insinuation  that  he  had  any 
hand  in  his  wife' s  death.  Finally,  he  offered  to 
make  oath  that  he  knew  nothing  of  her,  except 
that  she  was  still  in  bed  when  he  left  home  in 
the  morning,  and  must  have  got  up  and  walked 
to  the  Park.  But  in  the  very  act  of  lifting  the 
sacred  volume  to  his  lips,  retribution,  swift  and 
terrible,  overtook  him.  His  tongue  seemed  par- 


152  Suppressed  Sensations. 

alyzed,  Ms  lower  jaw  dropped,  his  eyes  almost 
started  from  their  sockets,  and  he  stared  fixedly 
at  a  spot  a  few  feet  off.  All  looked  in  that 
direction,  but  could  see  nothing.  With  a  violent 
effort,  the  murderer  broke  the  silence,  exclaim- 
ing :  — 

"Terena!  Terena!  forgive  me;  forgive  me. 
Let  me  rest  ;  let  me  rest." 

He  then  fell  to  the  floor  in  terrible  convulsions. 
He  was  placed  under  the  care  of  a  physician  of 
good  standing,  and  his  ravings  clearly  proved  the 
manner  of  his  crime.  Again  and  again  he  acted 
"t  over  in  his  delirium,  and  ever  imagined  that 
the  spirit  of  his  murdered  wife  stood  just  at  the 
head  of  the  bed,  but  always  beyond  his  reach. 
He  never  recovered  his  senses,  and  is  now  an  in- 
mate of  one  of  the  "  violent"  wards  in  the  Insane 
Asylum. 

The  facts  as  given  above  were  suppressed  at 
the  time,  but  an  examination  of  the  records  will 
establish  their  substantial  truth  ;  only  the  names 
being  changed.  Of  course  the  criminal  code  con- 
tains no  provision  for  the  reception  of  evidence 
from  the  spirit  world,  and  during  the  continu- 
ance of  Rubas'  insanity,  he  can  not  be  placed  on 
trial.  We  have  no  theories  to  advance,  and  the 


The  Witness  from  the  Dead. 


153 


reader  must  take  this  mysterious  history  on  its 
merits,  premising  only  that  the  scene  in  the 
private  office  of  the  legal  official  spoken  of, 
was  witnessed  by  no  less  than  seven  reputable 
persons,  and  that  the  Polish  widow  to  whom 
the  apparition  confided  the  dreadful  secret,  is 
a  woman  of  good  character,  and  had  no  motive 
for  deception. 


Specimen  Page  of  "RIVAL  DETECTIVES." 


THE  SHOT  CAME  FROM  BARTERS  PISTOL.        95 

there  had  evidently  been  threats  of  a  separation. 
The  Congregationalists  present  looked  at  their 
Episcopalian  brethren  in  triumph,  as  much  as  to 
say,  "We  told  you  so;"  but  the  latter  returned 
the  look  with  interest,  since  it  was  not  quite  clear 
who  was  the  wronged  person  in  this  connubial 
tift. 

All  eyes  were  turned  on  Bartel  when  he  was 
called  upon  to  tell  what  he  knew  about  the  affair. 
Many  of  the  neighbors  had  not  seen  him  since 
he  left  the  town  a  year  before,  and  they  scanned 
his  dull,  almost  repulsive  features,  with  an  eager 
desire  to  discover  traces  of  the  gay  but  blood- 
thirsty Lothario  who  had  played  sad  havoc  with 
the  domestic  peace  of  David  Jones,  and  finally 
sent  the  honest  farmer  hurrying  to  his  last 
account. 

,  Their  scrutiny  was  by  no  means  satisfactory  to 
the  country  critics.  Dick  was  morose  and  sullen, 
and  more  than  one  remarked  that  the  woman 
who  could  squander  wifely  honor  for  such  an 
ill-favored  scoundrel  was  fitter  for  a  lunatic 
asylum  than  an  honored  niche  in  Montcalm 
society. 

As  he  took  the  oath  to  tell  the  truth,  and 
nothing  but  the  truth,  Bartel  shot  a  quick,  in- 


Specimen  Page  of  "THE  BLACK  SORCERESS.' 


222  THE  BLACK  SORCERESS. 

"  Believe  me,  Sarah,  there  is  a  sweeter  pleasure  than 
that  of  vengeance;  that  of  pardon.  I  do  not  tell  you 
to  forget;  I  know  that  one  can  not  command  one's 
heart — but  forgive!  Kemember  that  there  are  about 
you  many  creatures  unhappier  than  yourself,  and  con- 
centrate your  thoughts  on  the  noble  aim  of  saving  so 
many  unfortunates  from  misery  and  the  cruelty  of 
their  lords.  Remember " 

"Forgive?"  she  interrupted  bitterly.  "At  this 
moment  when  vengeance  is  within  my  grasp,  do  you 
know  what  is  my  only  regret?  It  is  that  this  vengeance 
will  be  insufficient  to  satisfy  the  hatred  that  consumes 
me!" 

"Sarah!" 

"  Yes,  1  would  like  to  be  able  to  invent  new  tor- 
tures; I  would  like  to  be  able  to  unite  in  one  mass  all 
the  sorrows,  all  the  insults  I  have  suffered,  in  order  to 
crush  the  Count  and  his  bride,  in  order  to  make  them 
suffer  in  one  day  what  I  have  suffered  all  my  life!  Oh! 
I  would  like  to  trample  their  hearts  under  my  feet, 
and  read  a  mortal  anguish  in  each  pulsation! " 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  Sarah,  be  calm!" 

"  Who  speaks  to  me  of  Heaven?  "  she  cried  vio- 
lently. "  I  know  no  longer  anything  but  Hell!  I  tell 
you,  Florian,  the  perfidy  of  the  Count  and  the  con 
tempt  of  my  rival  have  been  to  me  like  so  much  poi- 
son poured  into  my  veins.  Ah!  If  this  poisoned 
blood  could  but  fall  drop  by  drop  upon  the  hearts  of 
those  who  have  wronged  me!  " 

As  she  spoke  these  words  the  movement  of  the  lights 
in  the  chapel  showed  that  the  bridal  train  was  about 
to  leave  it. 


Specimen  Page  of  "  PRINCE  ZILAH." 


PRINCE   ZILAH.  !6p 

She  shivered  and  moaned,  there  was  such  a  change  in 
the  way  Andras  pronounced  this  word,  which  he  had 
spoken  a  moment  before  in  tones  so  loving  and  caress- 
ing, —  Princess. 

Now  the  word  threatened  her. 

"  Listen  !  I  am  going  to  tell  you:  I  wished  —  Ah  !  My 
God  !  My  God  !  Unhappy  woman  that  I  am  !  Do  not 
read,  do  not  read  !  " 

Andras,  who  had  turned  very  pale,  gently  removed  her 
grasp  from  the  package,  and  said,  very  slowly  and 
gravely,  but  with  a  tenderness  in  which  hope  still  ap- 
peared : 

"  Come,  Marsa,  let  us  see  ;  what  do  you  wish  me  to 
think  ?  Why  do  you  wish  me  not  to  read  these  letters  ? 
for  letters  they  doubtless  are.  What  have  letters  sent 
me  by  Count  Menko  to  do  with  you  ?  You  do  not  wish 
me  to  read  them  ?  " 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  then,  while  Marsa's  eyes  im- 
plored him  with  the  mute  prayer  of  a  person  condemned 
to  death  by  the  executioner,  he  repeated  : 

"  You  do  not  wish  me  to  read  them  ?  Well,  so  be  it  ;  I 
will  not  read  them,  but  upon  one  condition  :  you  must 
swear  to  me,  understand,  swear  to  me,  that  your  name  !§.. 
not  traced  in  these  letters,  and  that  Michel  Menko  has 
nothing  in  common  with  the  Princess  Zilah." 

She  listened,  she  heard  him  ;  but  Andras  wondered  if 
she  understood,  she  stood  there  so  still  and  motionless, 
as  if  stupefied  by  the  shock  of  a  moral  tempest. 

"  There  is,  I  am  certain,"  he  continued  in  the  same 
calm,  slow  voice,  "  there  is  within  this  envelope,  some  lie, 
some  plot.  I  will  not  even  know  what  it  is.  I  will  "not 
ask  you  a  single  question,  and  I  will  throw  these  letters, 


Specimen  Page  of  "DARK  DAYS." 


DARK    DAYS.  81 

over,  that  Sir  Mervyn  Ferrand  was  her  husband  ; 
that  he  had  ill-used  her.  She  would  most  cer- 
tainly know  to  whom  Philippa  had  fled.  It  did 
not  follow  that  because  I  was  ignorant  as  to  who 
were  my  neighbors,  they  knew  nothing  about 
me.  At  any  rate,  William,  my  man,  would 
know  the  truth.  So  far  as  I  could  see,  to-morrow 
or,  by  the  latest,  the  next  day  Philippa  would  be 
arrested  for  the  crime.  Most  probably,  I  should 
also  be  included  in  the  arrest.  For  that  I  seemed 
to  care  nothing  ;  except  that  it  might  hinder, me 
from  helping  my  poor  girl. 

Any  hope  of  removing  Philippa — there,  put  it 
in  plain  words — any  hope  of  .flight,  for  days,  even 
weeks,  was  vain.  Let  everything  go  as  well  as 
can  be  in  such  cases,  the  girl  must  be*  kept  in 
seclusion  and  quiet  for  at  least  a  fortnight  or 
three  weeks.  I  groaned  as  I  thought  of  what 
would  happen  if  Philippa  was  arrested  and  car- 
ried before  the  magistrates,  accused  of  the  awful 
crime.  From  that  moment  until  the  day  of  her 
death  she  would  be  insane. 

Yet,  what  help  was  there  for  it  ?  The  moment 
the  deed  is  known — the  moment  Mrs.  "Wilson 
learns  that  Sir  Mervyn  Ferrand  has  been  found 
shot  through  the  heart,  she  will  let  it  be  known 

that  Lady  Ferrand  is  at  hand ;   and  Lady  Fer- 
&K  PM  6 


FEDORA  ;  or  the  Tragedy  in  the  Rue  de  la  Paix.    Translated 
from  the  French  of  ADOLPHE  B&LOT.     Illustrated.     12mo,    c 
303  pages. 

A   most  original,    powerful   and    exciting   Fren 
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modern  fiction.-' 

'    It  is  a  work  which  places  its  author  at  once  among  the  most  brilliant  and  powerful 
novelists  of  his  time — Albany  Sunday  Press. 

Since  the  appearance  of  "Les  Miserabies,1'  nothing  of  French  authorship  has  elicited 
such  unstinted  praise.— Newark  uV-  J-)  <•  &U- 

"Fedora"  will  be  read  because  unregenerate  human  nature  is  bad.     It  is  a  French 
detective  story,  dealing,  as  all  such  stories  do,  with  a  mysterious  murder,  a  sharp  d< 
fve,   an  abandoned  woman,  and  with  intrigues,  revelations    and  violent  deaths. — Hari- 
f<rrd  Evening  Post. 

The  story  is  highly  exciting,  and  contains  numerous  love  scenes  peculiar  to  Paris, 
./here  is  a  strength  of  diction  aiid  brilliancy  of  rhetoric  peculiar  to  the  eminent  French 
novelists. — fieivark  Daily  Journal, 

Selective  story  "Fedora"  deserves  to  rank  with  Poe?s  "  Murder  of  Marie  Roget," 
and  Miss  Harriet  Prescott  .Spofford's  "In  a  Cellar.1'  It  fully  equals  them  in  intricacy  of 
plot  and  ingenuity  of  execution.— Chicago  Tribune. 

The  dr/imatization  of  "  Fedora  "  has  created  a  furore  in  Paris,  and  i  >•  one  of 

the  gems  of  Madame  Bernhardt's  repertoire.    It  is  thoroughly  • 

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Inter  Ocean. 

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baffling  the  reader.  An  inside  view  of  the  fast  life  in  Paris,  the  courts  of  justice  and  the 
hidden  ways  of  criminals,  treated  boldly  and  in  full  detail,  but  without  coarseness  or 
1  exaggeration.— Boston  Globe. 

WON  AT  WEST  POINT;    a  Romance  on  the  Hudson.     By 

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dreary  monotony  of  "riding  on  the  rail." 

illey  of  the  Hudson  has  been  the  scene  of  many  a  song  and  story,  of  legend  and 
This  book  makes  a  contribution,  and*  a  charming  one,  to  the  -. 
tale  i.s  told  with  treat  spirit,  graphic  coloring  and  considerable  humor.    'TIS 
maintained  to  the  1;  .uresa. 

addition  to  native  fiction  literature  is  a  witty,  entertaining  i 
Hudson,  with  Military  Aca  'nt.    *    * 

I,  and  it  can  but  pie  ! •••ader?.    It 

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:  ailed,  on  receipt  of  price,  l>y 

RAND,  MrXALLY  &  CO.,  PUBLISH- 

148,  150,  152  and  154  v 


MFEB 


. 


Cl  S&uSlftCtl 

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•    - 


WARNER BROTHERS, 


